


Lemon Bread

by bluefallenfandomwallflowers



Series: The Blue House Series [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adorable, Alternate Season/Series 10, Alternate Season/Series 11, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxious Sam Winchester, Crazy adorable texts, Dean POV, Destiel - Freeform, Eileen deserved better, Eileen is amazing, F/M, First Dates, Fluffy, Interlocked Stories, Love Confessions, M/M, Relationship(s), Sam has a lot of feelings, Sam is a Sweetheart, Sam-Centric, Samleen, Sequel, Skype, So i gave it to her, Sweet, That happens at the same time as Yellow Shutters, Worried Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-11-01 00:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10910673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluefallenfandomwallflowers/pseuds/bluefallenfandomwallflowers
Summary: “Uh, reservation for Winchester?” Sam says, tucking hair after hair behind his ears.The hostess standing behind the podium in the tightest dress Sam has ever seen on a woman nods politely, grabbing one menu.“Oh, I have a date,” Sam says nervously as he follows her through the seated crowd of individuals with pearls wrapped around their necks and gold bands circling their thick wrists.“Yes, sir. She is already seated.”Oh God.======[can be read on it's own!]





	Lemon Bread

**Author's Note:**

> HOLY PICKLES, YA'LL.
> 
> I can't even believe it!
> 
> It has been almost a year since i posted _Yellow Shutters_ and a lot of crazy shit has happened since then XD 
> 
> I was going to post this exactly a year later on the 26th, but since *cough* s12e21 occured *cough* i figured that a lot of broken hearts needed mending before the finale (WHICH WILL DESTROY US ALL) and i am posting it tonight!
> 
> So, this fic is pretty much Sam's story while Yellow Shutters is Cas and Dean's. I've been shipping Samleen for a long time now, and if i'm honest, this was supposed to be a quick oneshot much like how YS was supposed to be...
> 
> And lookey there! ANOTHER FIC OVER 20K XD
> 
> While there is a ton of Samleen, I couldn't help putting a lot of Destiel in there too, along with a short snippet of Dean's POV. As I said in the summary, this fic can probably be read alone if you'd rather not read the first part of the series! But if there is anything confusing, just ask me about it and I will be happy to explain! :)
> 
> I do profusely apologize if I screw up anything obtaining to the deaf community and ASL! I'm not an expert, but I tried my best to research everything! If something looks messed up, PLEASE let me know! I don't wanna be _that_ person ;0
> 
> So... I believe that is it for my long A/N!
> 
> If you find yourself with comment, questions, or concerns, send them my way! :)
> 
> Here's to those who are still feeling hurt by BuckLeming, or just the episode/death in general. I hope this helps! <3
> 
> Enjoy!

NOTE: Bold print means someone is using purely sign language, unless it’s a text, or it is specified that someone is both talking and signing in the story.

 

======

It didn’t take all that long for a heavy crush to develop.

In Sam’s opinion, and without any compulsion from any outside parties _whatsoever_ , programming her number into his handy dandy cell phone was the best idea he has ever had.

Residing deep inside the ground in a bunker doesn’t give a guy much chance for social interaction, and most certainly _not_ any nights filled with sexual passion.

None at _all_.

But Sam isn’t about to dip down in the scales and pick up some random chick at a bar to fill his sensitive and whole-hearted desires. Maybe once upon a time he would have, along with Dean peer pressuring him as he did the same.

But he has _class_. A higher understanding, sort of.

He would ask Dean, but his brother is already caught up in his own love life.

Honestly, Sam wasn’t surprised when he walked in on Dean pushing Cas against the fridge, sloppily making out with him and most of their clothes strewn around the room haphazardly. He was only mildly disgusted, in a cheerful, “ _Good for you guys!_ ” way.

And of course Sam is happy for them. It was simply a matter of time before _that_ happened. Finally!

But he’s lonely. Really lonely.

That loneliness leads to him getting up one morning, snatching his phone off the bedside table and scrolling through the long list of contacts until it lands on her name.

_Eileen Leahy_.

It takes just a second of tired contemplation before Sam gives in to what his heart is telling him.

He shoots her a quick text.

And then he gets up and heads for the showers, praying that Cas and Dean aren’t in there doing whatever they seem to do all the time. Ha.

\---

It catches up to him over a bowl of _Honey-Nut Cheerios_ and a re-run of _Grey’s Anatomy_.

“Oh shit,” Sam says, spoon dropping into his bowl.

\---

Sam spends the rest of the day in a state of shock.

He shouldn’t even be feeling this way.

Eileen is a respectable hunter, a badass one at that. She’s deaf and she can _still_ kick ass like a pro. And she’s beautiful.

Maybe Sam has an intuition for this stuff. After getting to know her a bit, he could tell she was utterly brilliant, wise, and under that staff apron and tightly cinched bun, there’s something particularly special. He’s been able to admit to himself that he thoroughly enjoys curves and lithe hands that explain without sound, and beauty marks…

Ugh. Why did he _do_ that!? Eileen probably thinks he’s a weirdo.

Cas sits across from him at the kitchen table and eyes him suspiciously while Sam stuffs a tomato sandwich into his mouth, hoping to choke and die and not have to live the misery of rejection.

“How are you, Sam?” Cas asks after a few minutes of silence, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes. His hair is messy, but he’s brighter than ever, a warm glow settling around him. But right now he’s examining Sam warily.

“I’m fine, Cas,” Sam answers, tapping away at his laptop absentmindedly. He checks his phone, but it’s just the screen saver showing him a crappy picture of the Red Moon he took a while back. “Totally fine.”

“That’s one fine too many,” Dean grumbles, shuffling into the kitchen and pouring himself a cup of coffee. “How bout’ you spill the beans about what has your panties in a twist, Samantha.”

Sam rolls his eyes and checks his phone again.

“Sam, your brother and I are concerned about you,” Cas states, while Dean nods sarcastically behind him.

Sam frowns, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you two have a headboard to break? Preferably somewhere far, _far_ away?”

“Touchy.” Dean frowns and plops down next to Cas.

Sam goes back to clacking on his keyboard. He glances his phone every so often, trying not to groan at the sight of an empty screen.

“Why do you keep checking your phone?”

He swallows a slice of tomato whole and glances up at Cas who looks like he’s attempting to solve the greatest mystery of the century.

“No reason…”

“Ah hah!” Dean pounds his fist on the table with that smirk of his. “Knew it. This is about a _girl_!”

Sam blushes. “It is not. Shut up.”

“Totally is. Guessed it, didn’t I, babe?” He elbows Cas and shoots him a grin.

Sighing, Cas nods and pats Dean’s hand affectionately, rubbing his knuckles. “Yes. But if it really is… Who is this woman?”

They stare at Sam with wide eyes.

“Just— shut up!” Sam’s chair shrieks as it’s pushed back violently. “It’s not about a girl.”

Except it is. A girl whom he really enjoys, in fact.

Wait, scratch that-- _a woman_.

Dean catcalls after him as Sam scurries away. Checking his phone again on the way to his room, Sam groans.

If only.

 

\---

 

_Hey Eileen! It’s Sam Winchester. Remember? From the Banshee hunt? Just wanted to check in, make sure you’re okay… Text me back soon! Or, when you can!_

God, he sounds like a teenage boy with testosterone problems revolving around the hot blonde chick at school.

It’s almost midnight, way past his bedtime, and Eileen still hasn’t texted back.

Sam decides to doze off and worry about it tomorrow.

As if.

It’s around two a.m. when a ping sounds, the dark permeated with the light from Sam’s phone screen.

He immediately snatches it up and fumbles to control his gigantic thumbs.

**Hello Sam. I’m fine. I just finished up a hunt in North Carolina, actually. How are you?**

Oh god. _Oh god_.

Sam’s heart races suspiciously fast.

He texts back with, _I’m good. A little lonely, but other than that, good!_

A fucking idgit is what he is. Bobby would slap him upside the head and then laugh in his face and hand him a beer diluted with holy water, _that’s_ how idiotic his text sounds.

He regrets it as soon as he presses _send_ , but what is done… Is done.

**Why are you lonely?** , is the surprisingly normal reply. 

Sam sits up and stacks the pillows behind him and scratches his thigh. He ponders over the question, even though it’s simple. But he doesn’t want to sound as if he is coming on strong.

He says it anyway.

_My brother is in a relationship and I’m, well, not. It’s kind of hard sometimes._

**That’s a part of hunting, Sam. It doesn’t exactly give you a chance for a real relationship, now does it? Maybe you just have to put yourself out there instead of feeling sorry for yourself. ;)**

He nods to himself and smiles, feeling a bit warm inside. And he’s already getting lines of wisdom into the first ten minutes of conversation. Score! Even though it isn’t exactly _hopeful_ …

Another text pops up before he can type anything. **Who is your brother in a relationship with? Don’t tell me it’s Mildred! ;D**

Sam snorts and flops back down onto the mattress. He sits up again and shifts the part of his pajamas that have ridden up uncomfortably from his nervous antics. _Believe me, I wish it was. Then I wouldn’t be forced to hear the sound Dean’s headboard banging all night. And day._

They continue on like this for the rest of the nightly hours, bantering lightly, flirty like, until Sam’s eyes feel like they’re peeling and his limbs are shaking with exertion from kicking happily every time Eileen says something adorable.

_I don’t think I’ve ever known a woman whose favorite color is yellow,_ Sam types, grinning.

**I am quite unlike other woman, though.**

_That’s true._

Sam yawns, but he doesn’t want to quit. He wants to see Eileen in a lemon yellow sundress and strappy sandals, a smile bright on her face and a gun in her thigh holster.

But Eileen is the one to say goodbye.

_Text me tomorrow?_

**Of course, Sam! I mean, who else do I have to compete with?**

Sam doesn’t know whether that’s a total burn towards him or flirting… Either way, both his loneliness and sadness have been quenched for the time being and Eileen is practically the only woman in his contacts who is alive and willing to text him all night.

Jody most certainly would not be up for that.

_No one else,_ Sam texts, snuggling under the covers and shivering in delight. _Goodnight, Eileen._

**Goodnight, Sam.**

\---

This carries on for about a month, light hearted, deep, flirty and serious and not in that order.

Cas and Dean both pick up on his lighter mood, and even though they don’t know any details whatsoever, they joke from time to time, even Cas.

“The woman?” Cas will ask at breakfast, at dinner. Over the rim of his mug and with a polite and teasing smile when Sam happens to sneak his phone into his lap and the corner of his mouth gives him away.

Sometimes, if Dean isn’t in the room, Sam will affirm and Cas’ eyes will twinkle and they’ll go back to talking about a hunt or the morning paper crossword puzzle.

But if Dean is present, along with that damn smirk of his, Sam will just look up and wiggle his eyebrows and Cas will hide his smile. Or he’ll roll his eyes.

Dean doesn’t seem to want to pry very much, and Sam suspects Cas has something to do with it.

He’s glad.

Besides, they shouldn’t be worrying about him.

**What is your favorite dog breed?** Eileen asks.

Sam doesn’t hesitate. _Golden retriever. Had a big guy named Bones a while back and I loved him to pieces. I miss him a lot actually._

**Why don’t you get another dog then?**

_This life doesn’t give me much time to offer enough attention to an animal that needs it so desperately… Don’t want it to feel neglected, you know? Especially since we live underground :p_

**Ah, yes… The life. Why don’t you quit?**

Sam looks up from the screen and thinks.

Of course, a big reason involves the past women he had tried to settle down with before. How Sam had tried his hardest and ended up getting screwed all over again, yanked back into the life by his hair and handed a bloody dagger and told to go fight a whole new big bad and forget them.

He wants to tell Eileen this, but there’s more to the story. Something inside of him that’s fearful of change, scared of the consequences.

_I don’t know,_ he says as honestly as possible.

Eileen continues the conversation without bringing it up again and Sam is grateful.

\---

The day Eileen mentions _Skype_ is the day Sam freaks out for two reasons.

_One_ being the inevitable doom of everything he’s gone through these past months.

What if Eileen hates him? Or, what if he doesn’t do it right? What if he calls during a hunt and distracts her from fighting a monster and it gets her killed?

Sam wonders if he’s thinking too much.

_Two_ is the pounding excitement that races through him at the thought of seeing her elegant face in person (sort of, if a screen counts), being able to use the motions he’s been teaching himself, and impress her with his excellent use at ASL.

He’s so terrified.

Surprisingly, and not, Cas is the one to notice him having a meltdown.

Sam’s curled up in the far corner of the library, hugging a book to his chest and thinking about whether he should take a bath in orange juice or gasoline when Cas slides over to him, biting his lip and looking anxious.

“Sam?”

Sam looks up and gives him a watery smile. “Hey, Cas.”

Cas leans against a bookshelf and clears his throat before setting down the basket of laundry in his arms and folding his hands. “Sam…”

“Hmm?”

“Would you like to talk about something?”

Sam wiggles his toes and looks down bashfully. “…No…”

“Really.” Cas sits cross legged right in front of him and begins picking Dean’s shirts and jeans from the basket, folding them neatly and setting them in intricate piles like a good little slave.

It makes Sam laugh a bit, but he covers it up with a cough. “No. I— Can I tell you something? Without you telling Dean?”

Cas looks apprehensive so Sam adds, “At least, not for a few days.”

With a steady gaze and a palm sliding across the front of a tattered Led Zeppelin t-shirt, Cas nods slowly and gives him an attentive look.

Sam sits up and pushes a hand through his hair. Then he begins to tell Cas everything. About Eileen, how they met, how Sam texted her and freaked out. How they’ve been communicating through message for almost a month and now she’s asked if he’d like to _Skype_.

He has to explain what _Skype_ is before continuing the story.

But Sam realizes he has nothing else to say. Because right now, as he talks, this is where his story ends.

He hasn’t even given Eileen an answer.

Cas sighs heavily afterwards, but it’s not in annoyance. More like in a surprised way. “Well… Dean and I have been speculating this for a long time, that there is a girl that is very important to you.”

Sam smiles nervously.

“It sounds like you are quite fond of her, Sam,” Cas says, smiling back with soft blue eyes.

“I am. I really am. And it seems crazy because… Well, I’ve only known her for a short time and the time we actually saw each other in person was a while ago and not even that long and—”

“Sam.” Cas cuts him off with an exasperated laugh and a firm hand. “I think you have to stop freaking out and simply tell her you would like to skip.”

“Do… do you mean _Skype_?”

Cas rolls his eyes and places the newly folded particles of clothing into the basket. “I believe you just have to… Suck it up, as Dean would say. Text her, tell her you would like to do _that_ and do it.”

Sam places his bare feet on the cool floor and sighs, rubbing his arm. “You’re right. Doesn’t mean I won’t be nervous the whole time.”

“I know.” Cas stands and hoists the basket up under one arm. “But you are a hunter, Sam. You have battled demons, angels, even Lucifer himself.” With a kind smile, Cas places his hand on Sam’s right shoulder. “You are able to do this. And you _will_ get through it. I believe Eileen won’t be able to not love everything about you.”

Sam’s heart aches from Cas’ words.

He really is perfect for Dean.

“Thanks Cas.” Sam stands and slips his phone into his sweatpants before trying to hug Cas around the basket. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” Cas jokes, grinning like a dork.

“Uh, one more thing…” Sam swallows and looks at the ground. “You guys mind _not_ , uh, being so…”

Cas raises an eyebrow and tilts his head. “We won’t bother you Sam.”

“Yeah, I know, but… just don’t… be so loud?”

It takes a moment for it to come together and click in Cas’ head, but once it does, he looks totally mortified. “Yes. Of course. I— Oh my.”

Sam laughs, whole body shaking in amusement. He can practically _feel_ the embarrassment radiating off the poor guy. He pats Cas on the back as he walks away. “Thanks Cas. I can always count on you, man!”

\---

_I would love to Skype with you, Eileen._

It’s eight 0’clock on the dot and Sam is trying to get his hair in order when an unfamiliar bubbly tone begins to blare from his laptop.

“Okay, okay,” he coaches himself into the mirror, straightening his shirt. “You can do this. Probably. Not. Wait, yes you can!”

Sam growls and then turns red because that’s embarrassing even without anyone in the room with him.

Before he can back out, Sam is jumping onto his bed and pressing the answer button.

His heart leaps into his throat when his face shrinks into the corner of the screen and Eileen’s lovely one replaces it.

And, _oh gosh_ , she’s gorgeous.

Eileen is unlike what she was during the hunt. Her dark hair is loose, long, draping across her shoulders in wavy spirals that entice him to press his fingers against the screen. Her eyes are sparkling in the lighting cascading over her and her lips are glossy with chapstick.

“ **Hello, Eileen** ”, Sam signs, smile trembling, fingers precise. He’s so nervous, wanting to show Eileen what he has been teaching himself, but worried that it’s all wrong.

But Eileen’s lips break out into a gigantic grin that lights up every good emotion, every amazing feature…

And she’s beautiful.

\---

The time comes when Dean and Cas say they’ll be gone for a just few days and don’t come back for a week.

Sam isn’t surprised.

The way they’ve been acting in the bunker, around him, during meals and afterwards on the couch…

They’re clearly itching for something outside of these tight quarters.

He waits. And waits.

Sam discusses it with Eileen over Skype, done trying to perfect his hair-dos and rather snuggling up in his bed and staring at her delicate fingers and the way they spark up the desire lying nice and edgy under his skin. She speaks, _signs_ , with reason, purpose, joking when the time is right and being serious exactly when Sam wishes for her to be.

She doesn’t take crap and she isn’t all game.

Eileen cares for _all_ of them, and she doesn’t even know Cas. Yet.

She even knows when _Sam_ is being totally dishonest and anxious. She sees straight through him.

And it’s perfect.

“ **Are you scared of them leaving?** ,” Eileen asks, brown eyes wide and curious.

Sam sighs and pinches his nose. “ **No, I would just like them to get over themselves and talk to me about it.** ”

With a small smile that means she’s about to drop some wisdom, Eileen picks up her computer and moves towards the motel bed. “ **Sam, I am about to tell you something that might freak you out,** ” she signs, tilting her head and grinning as she settles back on ugly yellow pillows.

“ **Well go ahead then.** ” Sam shakes his head in amusement and props his chin up, looking at Eileen with big doe-eyes.

Eileen sighs and looks up at the ceiling, then back at him. “ **You should talk to _them_.** ”

Sam groans. “ **Do I have to?** ”

With a stern look, Eileen nods.

Sam slowly grins, fingers tucking hair behind his ear. “ **Okay.** ”

“ **Go do it.** ”

“ **What!?** ” Sam’s eyes widen.

Eileen nods. “ **Go talk to them! Please. Before you all drive each other insane.** ”

“ **That train has definitely passed,** ” Sam jokes.

“ **Go.** ”

“ **Yes ma’am.** ”

\---

So he does.

Sam sits his big brother and Cas down across from him in the war room, smoothing back his hair and trying to look them straight in the eye.

Dean keeps tugging at his shirt awkwardly, glancing up at him and then staring up at the ceiling, the table, anywhere but Sam.

“What is this about, Sammy?” He asks, voice a bit timid.

Cas leans forward and messes with one of the locator rings.

“I wanted to talk to you guys about something,” Sam begins, formal as hell. Eileen is in the back of his mind, encouraging him with her sweet smile and stern topaz colored eyes. He continues on. “I feel like we should discuss your next course of action.”

“The hell you talkin bout?”

“You guys clearly don’t want to be stuck here forever,” Sam explains slowly. “We haven’t gone on a hunt together in almost a month. You guys left for a whole week and I’m betting you didn’t spend _half_ that time working a case.”

Dean grimaces and scratches the back of his neck while Cas looks to his left.

“I just think we should stop avoiding it.”

“What?” Dean asks softly, green eyes worried.

Sam sighs and stands, heading over to where he hid the hopeful initiators under the metal staircase. They both look at him curiously and then their eyes widen when Sam rolls out the suitcases, giving them a small smile.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Cas says slowly, after a few moments of silence. “Do you…”

“Are we bothering you?” Dean asks, sounding so terrified it hurts. His voice breaks. “Are… Do you want us to leave, Sammy?”

“What? _No!_ Guys, no, I love you both. And you love each other.” Dean and Cas glance at each other and blush, ducking their heads. “You guys are in it for the long haul. And…” Sam feels the tears start to gather inside of him.

_Don’t cry!_ his brain warns.

_Too late,_ his heart answers.

“I don’t want you to grow old together and all that stuff in _this_ place. You guys deserve so much more. You deserve a house and the open road and, of course, each other.”

Sam watches as Dean’s hand moves to Cas’ thigh.

“So…” Sam thrusts the suitcases forward. “Go out. Find an apartment or something. A house. Jobs… Whatever you two deem best. But _don’t_ come back until you do _something_.”

Dean and Cas look completely stunned.

So Sam turns and walks away, leaving them to talk and discuss and also because he might burst out in tears and embarrass them all and they can’t have that.

\---

_There’s this hunt…_

Sam leans back in the booth and sighs, deleting the message and starting over. _Hey Eileen, I’m going out on a hunt while Cas and Dean are gone and I was wondering—_

Groaning, Sam backspaces it all until the bar is empty and slides his phone away from himself, focusing on his computer screen.

The sound of clinking mugs and sizzling bacon is drowned out by the buzz ringing through Sam’s ears. He clicks the article blazing on his laptop and scans over it, brain receiving only inklings of the case.

Some sort of vampire type deal, with exsanguinated bodies and… He wants to see her, touch her, embrace her tightly and memorize the scent of her shampoo.

Also, he kind of wants to watch her stab a monster in the heart and wipe the blood off her golden knife without blinking an eye.

Sam rubs his eyes and loosens his FBI tie, the stifling worry too much in this already over-heated diner.

Maybe he just shouldn’t even ask. It’d be better for both of them, probably. Life could go on as it has been and he won’t have to be a melting pile of worry anymore.

But a voice whispers into his ear, sure and steady. _“Suck it up, Sam! Text her and fulfill your dreams, bitch.”_

Wait. Maybe that’s not some random voice. It sounds kind of like his stupid big brother. With his stupid advice.

Shaking his head, Sam groans and sips on some hot cocoa, lapping up the whipped cream first because he deserves it.

“Need anything else, sweetheart?” The waitress asks, sidling up next to him while balancing a tray on her tiny hand. “Maybe our special Pig n’ a Poke?”

“Just the check,” Sam says hurriedly, smiling politely even though he wants to shoot himself after that statement, because that’s just his luck.

With a nod, she hurries away.

An abrupt buzz causes him to almost spill his coffee all over himself. “Shifsdt,” he hisses, smacking his own leg out of annoyance.

He eyes his incessant phone before growling and answering it.

“Sam.”

“Dean?” Sam holds the phone up to his ear with his shoulder and rifles through his bag in search of cash.

“We…” There’s the sound of some shuffling and whispers and then… “We did it. Sammy, we bought a house.”

Sam gasps. “Holy shit, really? Are you messing with me because you want to come back or..?”

“I’m not kidding.”

The ear-splitting grin on his face hurts, but Sam doesn’t care. “Dean… Dean, that’s great! I’m so happy for you guys!”

“Yeah… Cas finally convinced me to suck it up and… Well.”

“Seems like he’s telling everyone that these days,” Sam mumbles, grinning as his appreciation for the guy shoots up into the sky.

“Wai- what?”

“Nothing! That’s freaking amazing. I’m seriously proud of you!”

Dean huffs.

“So… Lemme guess. It’s pink right? Full of pink, flowery furniture?”

“Oh God, shut _up_.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Sam smiles and hands the crinkled ball of money up to the waitress, her smile faltering at the sight of all the bills she’ll have to unfold.

“Guess I live alone now.”

“Yeah....”

Sam snorts. “Dean, I’m not going to come move in with you, okay? Don’t worry.”

“Thank _God_.”

“Hey!”

“Just kidding. Cas and I, we just need some space… You know?”

“I get it. Promise. And that’s great. You both need this.”

Dean hums in agreement. “Sam… You sure you’re fine with this? I don’t want to make you feel like were abandoning you or something…”

“I’m fine, Dean! I promise.” Sam grins and attempts to pack up all his stuff. “But… Don’t be a stranger, okay? I want to hang out all the time.”

“Sam… Dude, we’re- we won’t leave you in the dust,” Dean says gently, voice reassuring. “I promise. We… we love you.”

Sad sighs and smiles, pushing through the door and heading into the warm morning. “I know. I love you too, Dean.”

“That is _not_ what I said.”

“Shut up. I know you doooo,” Sam coos.

He can hear Cas’ soft laughter in the background. “Okay, Sammy, we have to go. We’ll be at the bunker in a few hours.”

“Sounds good.”

After they hang up, Sam smiles.

Those idiots.

He loves them so much.

\---

**Sam, there’s a hunt in Michigan that I thought you’d like to assist me on… You up for it?**

Holy crap.

It must be fate, Eileen texting him about the same exact hunt _he_ was going to ask her about!

Dammit. He’s so stupidly excited he might pee his pants.

They plan to meet up somewhere in the middle. A nice restaurant/sports bar type place in Normal, Illinois, and Sam is confused about whether he should bring a machete or an Italian suit.

“Cas, what the hell am I supposed to wear?” Sam asks, gripping his hair and staring into the chaos that is his closet.

It consists of plaid, and plaid and, oh look, _plaid_! And maybe a few blood stained t-shirts stuffed within the dark, unknowable crevices.

“Maybe we should be asking Dean for help,” Cas suggests, staring down into Sam’s sock drawer with a contemplative look.

“ _Not_ asking Dean for help is a better choice.”

“Sam.”

He ignores Cas and instead pulls out one of his more solid colored shirts, one he uses under his FBI suits when he’s feeling special. “This?” He asks, holding it up in front of his chest, trying to smile.

Sighing, Cas flops down on the bed. “I like that… But I think you would look better in… That one.”

“Which one?”

Cas pops back up with surprising agility and genuine patience and begins to rifle through Sam’s closet, tongue poking out between his lips. “This would look very nice on you,” he says, pulling out a crisp white button down and a charcoal colored jacket. Sam hasn’t seen that in years and it’s quite literally a miracle that Cas spotted it. “Do you have matching slacks?”

“Yeah, but… What if this isn’t a date?”

He receives a bitch face that could almost shock him out of the game. “Really? Even _I_ know this is a date, Sam,” Cas deadpans, eyebrows scrunching together.

“How can you be sure?”

Cas tilts his head. “Obviously, she likes you back. Very much so. And inviting you on a hunt and suggesting dinner before seems like something romantic and not exactly mandatory for a vampire case.”

“But—”

“What else would you be doing?”

“Huh?”

Unhooking the shirt and jacket from the hanger, Cas hands it to Sam and goes back in for the pants. “Sam, what purpose would going to dinner with Eileen do for the case? Truly?”

“Well…” Sam gulps and unbuttons his shirt, pulling it off and tangling his hands up in the sleeves. “I guess we wouldn’t be cleaning out guns and filling up on dead man’s blood over a couple of steaks, so…”

“Exactly.” Cas smiles at him and circles Sam’s neck with a light blue tie, one that he bought in college and planned on wearing to something special that he forgets now. “It’s a date. And _Dean_ would agree too.”

Groaning, Sam lifts his chin as Cas knots the tie at the base of his throat. “You aren’t going to let me leave without telling him where I’m going, are you?”

“Nope!” Cas grins and hands him his jacket. “Try these on and then once we make sure it’s perfect, we will go find your brother.”

“Fine.” Sam takes the rest of the clothes while Cas lounges back on his bed examining _The Catcher and the Rye_ on Sam’s bedside table with curious fingers.

“Do you mind if I read this when you’re finished?” Cas asks, sitting up and picking through the pages neatly.

“Yeah, of course.” Sam almost falls over trying to stick his long leg into the pants. “So, tell me more about this house of yours… Dean practically ran all the way to your room and hid when you guys got back,” Sam says, chuckling as he tugs at his zipper.

Cas places the book back on the table and a smile spreads its way across his lips. “Well, you know Dean. He was against every house we went to look at, but eventually, he came back to this beautiful blue house with yellow shutters. We examined it thoroughly and Dean had his worries, but eventually we decided to have it for our own.”

“That’s so great. I really am so proud of you guys,” Sam says, grinning from ear to ear. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“It _is_ outdated, though, so we will need your help to get it into order.”

“I’m on it!” Sam pulls on the jacket and smooths out the arms. “Okay, how do I look?”

“You look great, Sam!” Cas exclaims, nodding his head and standing to fix the collar. “Eileen will be pleased.”

“You think?”

“I’m sure she would be amazed even if you were covered in blood and gore,” Cas says, wiggling an eyebrow.

“I’m not totally sure what _that_ was supposed to mean,” Sam says, laughing. “But, I will take it as a compliment, _Dean_.”

Cas rolls his eyes, but he has a sly smirk on his face. “Speaking of Dean, let’s go see what he thinks.”

“Do I really have to?”

\---

Oh, he has to alright.

Cas gives Sam no chance, no choice, and suddenly he’s standing in front of Dean in his neatest suit and giving an explanation about why his shoes are polished and he’s shaking.

“What?” Dean grumbles, looking at him suspiciously. His fingers slow their imposable clacking on Sam’s laptop.

“You know you’ll have to get your own when you move out,” Sam says, gesturing to the laptop.

“Huh.” Dean smiles crookedly, clearly feeling awkward. He eyes Sam’s suit. “What? Here to ask me out or something? Cause if so, I’m happy to tell you I’m taken.”

An amused smile laces over Cas’ lips, but as he settles next to Dean in one of the comfy library chairs, he gives Sam a firm, assertive look.

“No, I uh…” Sam swallows, and looks Dean right in the eyes. They’ve always been washed through with honey green, like a waterfall of emerald, but not since Sam’s demon-blood addiction have they been so terrifying. “Eileen invited me on a hunt.”

“Eileen? From the Banshee hunt?” Dean actually looks surprised.

Sam nods, scuffing the ground with his shoe. A smudge of black shoe polish marks the ground and he attempts to scrub it out, making it efficiently worse.

“Okay… Cool.” Dean nods. Gives him a thumbs up when Sam doesn’t move.

“Awesome, well, I’ll just go then—”

Blue eyes lock onto his, warning him of consequences. Damn, he’s scary. “I think we might be going out to dinner beforehand,” Sam says instead of a heady goodbye. “And, I was wondering what you thought of this, uh, this _outfit_.”

Raising an eyebrow, Dean nods slowly. “Well, alright. It looks… Good. Fine. Kinda look like a pretentious asshat, but yeah, cool.”

Sam glares at him.

“Kidding! Jeez, take a joke.” Dean laughs to himself before closing the laptop.

There’s a long silence that stretches like many of the roads they have traveled upon throughout their lives.

Meaning, Sam despises it and his tie is too tight.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Cas groans, running his hands down his face.

Sam scurries away and gets packing, hearing Castiel’s heated whispers and Dean’s amusing silence.

\---

Why _wouldn’t_ Sam get there hours before the appointed meeting time?

According to the bartender, it’s much too early, even for a nervous first date. The cooks are just beginning to arrive and the broiler won’t even be turned on for another hour and Sam’s one gin and tonic has turned to two, and counting.

The guy sends him home with the promise of a good table and excellent service at seven o’clock sharp under the name _Winchester_.

Instead of a cozy home, Sam plops down on a motel bed and lies back, intending to get up in few minutes after some choice eye rest.

And three hours later, he does so.

“ _No_ ,” Sam gasps, staring at the time in horror.

He shows up at the grill with one minute to spare, the back of his suit wrinkled and his hair not entirely smoothed down the way it was earlier in the evening.

The bartender raises an eyebrow and shakes his head slowly as if to say, _not cool, bro_.

“Uh, reservation for Winchester?” Sam says, tucking hair after hair behind his ears. For a moment, he wishes he was bald.

The hostess standing behind the podium in the tightest dress Sam has ever seen on a woman nods politely, grabbing one menu.

“Oh, I have a date,” Sam says nervously as he follows her through the seated crowd of individuals with pearls wrapped around their necks and gold bands circling their thick wrists.

“Yes, sir. She is already seated.”

_Oh God_. His heart almost stops, oxygen no longer flowing normally at the sight of Eileen Leahy seated upon a black cushioned chair, hair spilling across her shoulders in an adorably curly manner, nails painted magenta.

He never realized it before, but female hunters who don’t act all tough and too good for everyone else and don’t wear only black are pretty damn attractive to him.

Attempting to get ahold of himself, Sam sets two fingers on Eileen’s shoulder, her smooth skin cool and soft. She looks up and Sam had totally forgotten how warm and golden brown her eyes were. Smiling, Eileen stands and hugs him tightly, smelling of something sweet.

And fortunately, with a long distant appreciation to a certain guy with blue eyes, Eileen is wearing a dress. A nice dress that accents her chest- _not that Sam notices or anything_ \- and shows off her curvy figure.

“ **Hello Sam,** ” she signs once they are seated.

Sam grins at her and skims his fingers over the petite menu in front of him. **“Hi. How are you?”** He signs, but speaks out loud to calm his nerves.

“ **I am feeling incredible,** ” Eileen moves with a blush on her cheeks, eyes keeping to the table cloth, where she rolls it in between her fingers shyly afterward.

It’s adorable, and almost comforting, seeing as how he isn’t the only one at this table who is nervous as hell.

Eventually, they stray into the topic of the hunt and that gears up the rest of the evening nicely.

Weird, how different torture mechanisms can bring two people closer together.

“ **I never thought about making bullets out of salt,** ” Eileen signs with honesty, looking genuinely surprised. “ **But then again, I rarely encounter demons.** ”

“Do you have the tattoo?”

“ **What do you mean?** ”

“Well, I actually have the anti-possession symbol on my chest,” Sam says quietly, but clearly, pointing at himself with a flaking butter roll. “Better than having a charm you can lose easily.”

Eileen picks at her salad, her lips sliding up into a mischievous smirk. “ **Perhaps you can show me later,** ” she signs after a moment, holding back an obvious laugh.

Turning as red as the tangy marinara sauce on his tortellini, Sam wipes his mouth with his starkly white napkin and tries to hold it together while Eileen gives him a silent laugh before digging into her steak with zest.

The rest of the night progresses nicely, and for once he orders dessert and together they eat the scrumptious cake and discuss their past attempts at _normal_.

After telling Eileen all about his woes, she explains that although she has tried before, she just couldn’t let herself look past the strange occurrences that popped up in newspapers, the desperation that radiated from every town she traveled to, and the knowledge that her parents’ killer was still somewhere, destroying lives.

“As much as I hate to say it, having someone else who understands what that feels like makes it a little bit easier to bear,” Sam says softly, finger dragging through a dollop of leftover chocolate icing before aborting his plan and wiping it off on the table cloth.

“It helps having someone to share it with,” Eileen says with a gentle, wavering tone, hands too busy cupping his.

He meets Eileen’s eyes and they share a look that makes him feel hot inside, like he’s weightless.

Like he’s maybe not so alone anymore.

The town seems quiet enough to take a walk through after Sam pays, fighting for the check with giggles that make him feel young and spry again.

He tries to be subtle as he grabs Eileen’s hand, but she smirks up at him anyway and gathers her hair over one shoulder with a happy bounce in her step. They don’t have to converse, and it’s comfortable as they come across a small park alit with shining bulbs and what seems to be a public party.

There are couples dancing, smiling, sharing punch by a large table stuffed full of random dishes that vary from expensive looking chocolates to chicken nuggets.

“Hey, join the party, ya’ll!” A stout looking man dancing with a young girl calls over, spinning her around as she cackles with joy. “Everybody’s welcome!”

Eileen is still glancing around, eyebrows furrowing, so Sam lets go of her hand to sign to her.

“ **Would you like to dance?** ”

She smiles, but it’s timid. “ **I can’t hear the music.** ”

“ **So?** ” Sam grins and swoops her into his arms, arms circling her waist as he spins them around, so off tempo with the beat of the song some people look over at them strangely, but he doesn’t care.

Why should he?

He was never that great of a dancer anyway.

Eileen breathes in deeply, looking up at him with big, caramel eyes. Her hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and together they link fingers up in the air.

They move, without any direction, and it’s perfect.

Sam breathes, the nerves that had been coiled up inside of him all night finally loosening and giving him a sense of relief and safety.

They can’t talk, too close for Eileen to read lips and too loud for Sam to think with any sense of clarity, but it’s nice and wonderful and where Eileen’s skin touches his he is warm and the tip of his nose is chilly.

As he spins her again, over and over, he hears her laugh.

For real this time.

And it sounds sweet and pure and untamed.

They dance out of step wildly for awhile, getting lost in the crowd and a blur of colors and unintelligible faces on the dawn of weary and tired, but too lost in the fun to back away. Sam taps his fingertips along her spine, to an unclear rhythm, so lost in Eileen that the music can’t even partake.

“Thank you, Sam,” Eileen says, pulling away to look up at him with a dazzling smile.

He grins back, the night sky and the shining lightbulbs a flawless backdrop for the sight in front of him.

“No, thank _you_ ,” Sam whispers to himself as he pulls her closer once more.

\---

It’s utopia in the land of Sam’s absent loneliness, having been replaced with a rippling stream of hope that ribbons throughout his mind and heart and warms him all over.

The hunt had been easy, despite what both Sam and Eileen’s muddled brains had led them to believe. The vampires were newbies, thirsty for blood and death, no hope of reconciliation residing in their corrupted minds.

It was a shame, but Sam can’t help admit that it really turned him on seeing Eileen swing a fricken _sword_ through a vamp’s throat in one smooth sweep, arms strong and a pale strip of skin showing beneath her sweater.

Blood dotted her hair and face as she wiped her weapon off on a dusty piece of cloth, and Sam couldn’t stop from swallowing and swiping his thumb over her cheek in an attempt to just simply touch her.

Maybe it was creepy.

Maybe she thought he was a weirdo, too deep in the job to be totally human. Which, really, after everything he has gone through, he most likely isn’t.

But his excuses keep the worries at bay for now and that feels alright.

They had parted with smiles, the desire on his lips left outside, but kept warm in the sunshine of her smile and lithe hands.

It’s been a few weeks since then, and although he’s itching for another meet up, Sam is focusing all his attention on Skyping Eileen almost every day and fixing up Cas and Dean’s wonderful, cozy home.

The first time he sees it, he knows it’s the one.

He can imagine those dorks making a permanent home here, hosting potlucks with their friends and laughing without weapons tucked in their pockets and falling even more in love in the depths of normalcy and comfort.

That’s all Sam has ever wanted for them.

And upon seeing the beginning of the new, exciting life that awaits them, Sam realizes that he wants that too.

“Do you like it, Sam?” Cas asks him, big blue eyes curious, but nervousness lies behind them. He waits for Sam’s answer, and his heart hurts at the thought of Cas’ worries being focused on whether Sam approves or not.

“I love it already, man,” Sam appeases with a huge, genuine grin.

And he really does, because this is literally the epitome of his dream house, and he’s almost jealous.

_Those damn yellow shutters_.

He can’t get over them.

“But honestly, I’m on edge waiting to see the inside,” he confesses, patting Cas’ back.

His answers seem to please, and Cas excitedly jiggles the key into the lock before pushing open the gorgeous door and leading him into a fresh land waiting to be stocked with paint and furniture and smiles.

Dean would call him soft; Sam would refer to himself as sentimental, wistful.

It’s an amazing sight, watching Cas point out different spots and explaining what he wishes to do with the space, what he’d like to do to spruce it up and make it their own. He wants a comfortable couch and colorful rugs and walls and paintings by famous artists he wishes he had been able to meet, but never got the chance to.

Cas tells him about how even though Dean denies his plea, he honestly really likes the ugly, pink bathroom on the first floor.

He calls it _eccentric_ , and Sam snorts.

With a sigh, Cas says, “That’s exactly what your brother did.”

“There’s a good reason,” Sam mumbles.

“What?”

“Nothing! Show me your bedroom!”

Apprehensively, Cas shows him the humongous bedroom hiding down the hallway and instantly, his smile returns. “I love this,” Cas says quietly, running his fingertips over the rugged wall, painted a rich brown that doesn’t require any touch-ups. “Having our own bedroom. Being able to simply enjoy a day of reading and quiet and simplistic pleasures neither of us have had the privilege of doing.”

Sam stays quiet as Cas settles in at the reading nook, the sun shining on one side of his face as he peers out the window with a faraway expression.

“I don’t quite know what I did to deserve this,” Cas confesses with a frown. “But I don’t want to waste it.”

“Then don’t.” Sam plops down next to him, the cushion emitting forgotten dirt and strands. A curtain of dust appears in the sunlight and he waves his hand through it, smiling down at Cas lightly. “Look how far you’ve come together, Cas. Look how amazing this house is and all your ideas and how something as simple as this can light up your eyes. I know it’s difficult and scary, believe me. But from what I’ve seen…” Sam rests his hand on Cas’ knee, grinning. “It looks as if you’ve found what you’ve been searching for.”

Cas wipes his eyes before Sam can catch a look, but the fallen angel still smiles at him with soft eyes. “I have,” he whispers.

“Then you’ve figured out something that very few of us humans have.”

His eyes look incredibly blue in the sun and Sam sees what Dean does every day.

A strong, courageous _man_ who has sacrificed everything and deserves more.

And Dean is attempting to give that to him and he is succeeding and Cas doesn’t have dark circles under his eyes anymore. Or a permanent crease between his eyebrows, or a back as straight as an ironing board.

He’s human, and yet so much more.

“Thanks for making my brother happy,” Sam says, pulling him in for a hug.

“Of course. I would give no less, Sam, I can promise you that.”

“And I have no doubt,” he says with a laugh, patting Cas on the back.

They pull away and Cas stares out the window with a smile pulling on his lips, just as Sam hears the low rumble of Dean’s Impala.

“Dinner time,” Sam says with round eyes.

Cas chuckles and follows him downstairs to where Dean is cursing to himself as he lugs in a pile of things into the kitchen.

“Mind- _ouch_!- helpin’ a fella out?” Dean calls, stumbling.

Rolling his eyes, Cas lifts the pizza boxes from the top of the obviously _not_ heavy pile of documents and liter bottles of Mountain Dew. “Thank youuu!” Dean sings, winking at him.

“Laziness is not an excuse for your apparent ‘lack of strength’, Dean,” Cas says, placing the pizza boxes on the kitchen table just in time to use air quotes.

“Hardee har har.” Dean whisks Cas close with an arm around his waist, nuzzling his face under Cas’ jaw. “Shut up. You know ya love me.”

“Hmm. Hard to tell when my pizza is getting cold,” Cas grumbles, fingers trailing through Dean’s hair.

Sam snorts, rolling his eyes, seating himself at the table and stuffing a big slice of pineapple pizza in his face, the added fruit only present because it has to be at least a _bit_ healthier than Dean’s garbage everything-on-it pizza.

And besides, he’s gotta keep these abs nice and firm. (ha.)

He pats his belly and laughs to himself.

“What’s so funny, Rapunzel?” Dean asks, tipping his head back as a slimy piece of cheese is lowered into his mouth.

“Just thinking about how I have to keep this hot bod looking good,” he says.

“EW!” Dean exclaims, covering his ears. He uncovers them just as quick to give Sam a supercilious grin. “Hey, just to let you know, this is _my_ house and I can kick you out anytime I’d like.”

“Ha. Hilarious.”

“I’m serious, Sammy.”

“Cas wouldn’t let you.”

“Babe?”

They both turn to look at Cas who is in the middle of enjoying his pepperoni pizza with a contemplative look.

“It depends Sam. Because as thrilling as it is to know that you are healthy, I would rather not see what you refer to as your ‘hot bod’,” Cas says, narrowing his eyes as Sam.

Dean grins. “There.”

“ _But_ , if you choose to kick out the only person willing to help us complete this gigantic task we have laid out for ourselves, I’d suggest you sleep on the couch, Dean.”

“Damn, that’s cold,” Sam hisses, raising his eyebrows in challenge. Smirks.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

\---

Sam can’t remember the last time he had so much fun while in the midst of physical labor.

In all honesty, working out has never been that big of an issue for him, rather his free time limiting him from doing so, since he basically has none of it.

And during hunts, it wasn’t as big of an issue as Dean made it out to be. Digging graves may be dusty, but the sweat rolling down his spine and the strain in his arms and legs and back was strangely welcomed, craved.

But, truly?

Laughing so hard that you almost drop a brick on your toe could be considered dangerous to some people, but to him it’s a win.

Sam’s lungs burn and his throat is parched and that mosquito bite settling on his skin right where his t-shirt rubs against it is annoying, but laughter dissolves most of the pain. His relief exceeds any pain that might happen to jab at his wrist during the process of breaking off one of the bedroom doors in desperate need of replace.

Cas and Dean still want him around.

And, well, not just for his labor. (hopefully…)

They joke and push him around and buy him food and stuff and let him walk into their house without knocking, even though maybe he should reconsider that ‘perk’ because one time he caught them in a compromising position on the stairs and he has been forever scarred.

_The stairs_.

Like, who does that!?

Fiends, that’s who.

The first week goes by quickly, because there is so much to do, so much to break and put back in a different order.

Together, he and Dean tear up the fence in the front yard, none of it seemingly salvageable, but Cas suggests using it for firewood.

They travel to Home Depot and purchase beautiful red wood and shiny, new tools that aren’t going to be used for ganking monsters and Cas buys them three packs of skittles that they munch on during the trip back.

The fence goes back up a bit slower, but with all hands on deck it’s finished two days later and they celebrate by going out for pizza and sodas.

The next couple of weeks are simple touch-ups, moving in furniture, Sam backing away just a bit and picking up some hunts just so Cas and Dean can start having their own space.

Sam loves them, but even he can see the invisible itch building up under their skin and the shattering patience when the couch is finally moved in and the kitchen is stocked and Cas’ cinnamon cookies are in the oven.

The day Sam realizes his job is done is when Cas receives a call during lunch one day, the kitchen a sunny yellow and the windows reflecting warm rays on Sam’s jeans, his stomach full and content.

“Hello?” Cas answers while washing the dishes, holding the phone up to his ear with his shoulder, the way Dean does. It’s cute actually, seeing how his mannerisms reflect so much on Dean’s own, or, even Sam’s sometimes.

There’s silence and then suddenly the sound of cracking glass inside the sink breaks the silence and Dean is jumping up, posture stiff and worried.

But Cas holds up his hand, palm bleeding, but he doesn’t seem to realize it as he sends Dean a reassuring smile. “Yes, this is-is Castiel Winchester,” he says firmly, shooting them a wide-eyed look as he heads out to the living room.

Sam tilts his head as Dean slowly sinks into a chair, hand cupping his mouth as he squints, looking a bit stunned. “Winchester?” Sam asks, grinning.

“Yeah.” Dean is blushing, totally red in the face, and Sam laughs, chest light.

“Sounds good. _Castiel Winchester_...” 

Dean looks up at him, nervous for some reason, but he clears his throat and pulls himself together, breathing in deeply. “Wonder what that was about, though. He pretty much fucking threw that glass,” he says, changing the subject with a smile.

“Well, must be good news if he can totally disregard blood pouring out of his hand.”

They laugh as Cas hurries back into the kitchen, blood on his gray t-shirt. He looks at Dean and grins bashfully. “I got the job!”

Hopping up with a grin, Dean picks Cas up in a bear hug and spins him around, cheering loudly. “Knew you’d get it!”

“Congrats, man!” Sam says, holding up his beer.

Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and kisses him firmly with a sweet smile.

“Ew, you guys,” Sam says, imitating a massive throw up.

“Hey, be nice! Cas just got himself a job,” Dean praises, patting Cas’ cheeks and kissing just below his eye. “So when do you start!?”

“Tomorrow,” Cas says slowly, biting his lip. “It seems quite soon, doesn’t it?”

“Wow. A bit.” Dean keeps the air light, though, rubbing Cas’ arms. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you everything you need and teach you how to count change and how to be polite and _not_ scare customers off…”

Cas rolls his eyes and they kiss again and suddenly, Sam feels like he’s intruding on a sort of private moment.

“Hey, guys, I think I’m going to head out. You don’t need me, right?”

They look over at him quickly, confused. “I guess we don’t, but you can stay, Sam,” Cas says, stepping forward.

“Yeah, I’m makin’ burgers!” Dean chimes in.

“Actually, there’s this hunt I’ve been wanting to check out, so…”

There’s an awkward silence that follows, Cas looking dejected, clenching his fist as the adrenaline disappears and the pain becomes sharp in his hand. Dean swallows. “Okay.” He walks over and pulls Sam into a tight hug. “Thanks for, uh, everything. We couldn’t have done it without you, man.”

“Yes, we are very grateful,” Cas affirms, pulling Sam in for an even tighter hug. He pulls away sharply, squeezing his hand and looking down at the cuts on his palm. “Ah...”

“Come on, let’s go get you cleaned up,” Dean says, pulling Cas in by the hip. “Don’t be a stranger, little brother!” He smiles and winks before leading him away into the depths of their colored rooms and walls built to support their happiness.

And Sam goes out to his truck and sobs like a fucking baby.

\---

It’s a few days later when Sam pulls up in front of a cozy looking condominium with crippling yellow paint and a faint sign that reads “Risen Apartments,” depicting a scratchy drawing of a once bright, smiling sun.

So, maybe it’s a bit ghetto.

But on _Skype_ , Eileen had praised the place to the highest compliment, saying how nice the landlord is and how the residents, although older, are patient with her and some even know a little sign language, a tool they apparently picked up in the midst of their hearing loss. The place is kind of like a retirement home, with quiet maids and a receptionist who makes it her life duty to take care of every single person over the age of seventy and supply them with an excessive amount of diapers and quilts.

Eileen was enthusiastic, having been occupying the small place for a short two weeks and wanting to surprise Sam once she got everything in order so she could whip up a fancy dinner in her fancy new kitchen.

And surprised he was.

Sweat beads along his hairline and he has to loosen his tie so he bypasses suffocating in this too-hot-of-a-car and end up failing someone he really cares about.

It takes ages of contemplation and telling himself he won’t die; even longer to believe it for more than a split second. A bitter taste makes a home in Sam’s mouth as he climbs out of his truck, scuffing his shoes on the asphalt with a shaky breath in, and out. He stares up at the building as he makes his way up the broken sidewalk, the mantra running through his head at a hundred miles per hour.

_3rd floor, down the right hallway (use the stairs because the elevator has been broken for years and none of these oldies know anything about engineering and have to drag themselves up them), and my apartment is at the end: number 24._

He gulps.

_3rd floor, right hallway, stairs, old people, 24._

Yeah, Sam can’t do this.

He turns to head back to his truck and almost runs into a little girl standing right behind him.

“Uh, hello,” Sam squeaks out, waving awkwardly as the girl stares at him, head cocked to the side in a very Castiel-type mannerism.

It’s a moment of awkward silence before the girl giggles and runs on past him, heading towards the apartment complex. Sam makes a hasty decision, and follows after her.

Maybe it’s those hunter instincts kicking in, or perhaps that’s his brain’s way of telling him to man up and just go.

A musty, old person smell surrounds him as he pushes open the glass doors smudged with tiny fingerprints, but the lobby seems clean, cozy in the way that it looks broken in, a home for many people who have passed on through and added their own touch to the place.

The girl’s curly blonde hair swishes around her shoulders as she bounces through the lobby and to a large circular desk. The receptionist behind the counter clacking away with severely long nails and a hairstyle fit for the 70’s sniffs as Sam warily walks forward.

“Mimi, look who is it,” the girl not quite whispers, pointing at Sam who feels mildly uncomfortable, and growing.

The supposed Mimi looks up from her ancient computer screen and her eyes lock on Sam. Her lipstick is smeared a bit on her bottom lip, but her smile still shines at him like a beacon in the night and he has to squint. “You’re Sam, aren’t you honey?” She asks, her voice drawling with a thick southern accent. “Oh Lordy, Eileen is going to be simply delighted to see your handsome face!”

Nodding, Sam stuffs his hands into his pockets, raising his eyebrows nervously as the two ladies beam at him, the young girl licking at her lips with an infectious smile. “Uh, so, I…” Sam tries to remember what Eileen told him, but it’s like his brain has been scrubbed clean and years of memorizing, researching, recreating _maps_ , for God’s sake, in his mind is just gone. “Would one of you mind—”

“I would be _de-_ lighted to take you to Ms. Leahy’s rooms!” Mimi exclaims, popping out of her seat, her bosom also threatening to pop out of her scarcely clad chest. “Follow me, sweetie!”

She hurries down a long hallway, heels clicking on the tile, and as Sam hurries after her, the girl twirls around him, giggling. Running over to the elevator up ahead, she begins to rapidly press the buttons.

“Miss Tracy, how many damn times do I gotta tell you to leave that elevator _alone_!?” Mimi yells from the end of the hallway, one bright pink fingernail wagging at the girl.

With a grin, Tracy grabs Sam’s hand and pulls him forward and they all take about an hour walking up flights of stairs that never seem to stop, but maybe that’s just his crazy brain making up stories.

They reach the third floor finally, taking the right hallway, heading towards the end on cheap blue carpet and past doors marked with pictures of grandkids and cats and polaroids.

The last door, depicting the number 24, is clear of distinguishing aspects, painted maroon, and the doorknob is silver. It makes Sam smile, and then he suddenly feels a lot better because this is _Eileen_.

She knows him, his life. What he’s been through. How he might think he knows how to do this, but doesn’t really.

With a telling grin, Mimi swiftly presses a doorbell that makes lights flash through Eileen's apartment.

“She’s been so excited, doll,” she whispers, nudging Sam’s side. “It’s so clear that she loves the dickens out of you.”

Wait, wha—

Eileen throws open the door with a smile, hair tucked behind her ears, and she looks beautiful, Sam’s heart pounding.

“ **Sam!** ” She signs, hands fluttering around his neck as she wraps herself around him.

He squeezes her tightly, breathing in her sweet smelling shampoo.

“Okay, well, I’ll just leave you to it then!” Mimi says, clapping her hands and then signing quicker than Sam can decipher. She clacks away, and Tracy waves wildly, hugging Sam’s leg before skipping off, Mimi yelling at her as they disappear down the hallway.

Sam could say more on the matter, but suddenly he’s being whisked into Eileen’s apartment, back pressed against the door. “Eileen…”

But she’s too busy cupping his face and kissing him softly.

_Holy—_

Sam’s totally caught off guard by their _first kiss_ and the feel of Eileen’s tender lips and how he had dreamed about this invaluable moment and unexpectedly, it was here.

“Oh,” he whispers, as she pulls away, eyelids fluttering.

So, he leans in again and this time, he’s with the program, gripping Eileen’s arms and running his palms down to her hands, trying to put in the moves.

God, he’s so out of it.

After a few minutes of a surreal makeout session that leaves Sam feeling giddy and young, Eileen introduces him to her apartment.

His lips tingle as she sweeps through the small space. The kitchen is small, but fully stocked, connecting to a small living area that possesses a royal blue couch and an old timey television set that makes Sam laugh. A petite bathroom is tucked into a corner, next to a door that is painted green that leads into the bedroom.

It’s impossibly cozy, furnished in homely luxury, with a few items that suggest Eileen’s true lifestyle. A shotgun stuffed behind the dresser, a blade under her pillow and mattress, even some tiny knives enclosed in hollow books and pressed in the back of picture frames.

The sight of her bed causes a sweat to build under Sam’s arms, but he puts anything relating to that topic out of his mind and follows Eileen back into the kitchen. Something rich is simmering in a silver pan, along with some sort of pasta boiling in a deep pot, wisps of steam rising steadily from beneath the lid. “ **That smells fantastic,** ” Sam signs, voice soft as he gazes at Eileen with a gentle composure that makes him feel relaxed.

She must feel it too as she nods, wiping at her forehead when she bends slightly to lift the lid, releasing all the swirling steam inside. “I think you’ll enjoy this,” she says, her hands preoccupied with stirring the pesto sauce and sprinkling a few spices over it. “Mimi suggested it.”

“ **Hmm, now I’m kind of suspicious,** ” Sam jokes, leaning against the counter next to Eileen, keeping his motions smooth and his voice steady.

At times, he has the urge to yell, as if it would help. Luckily he’s able to catch himself most of the time. Sam knew that this would be the hard part, but memorizing these gestures was no more difficult than remembering a spell or a speedy slur of what Dean wants to eat from some diner. He just has to remind himself that Eileen needs to be able to see him if he’s signing and especially when he’s talking.

Then he must pronounce thoroughly, which isn’t too big of an issue.

He’s always hated how the imploring generation has shortened so much of the English language! Texting with Dean was a time consuming battle. Even Cas was in on the lingo.

_Rmbr 2 gt my pi. ttyl. ty. dnt frg._

Just an example, but realistically Sam’s life. Don’t even get him started on _emoticons_.

Ugh.

_Fml_ is all Sam can say to that.

With Eileen, everything is clear and precise, because she needs it to be that way. And Sam likes it, which makes it even more perfect.

The only word that is running through Sam’s mind has something to do with comfort and warmth. Eileen’s apartment has a huge window that lets the sunlight pour in and wash the room in a glow that makes Sam melt into her cushions, his hand virtually limp in hers.

He could sleep, his head resting on Eileen’s shoulder, drifting off into a forever that includes a comfy throw pillow and the drone of a crackling voice on her ancient television screen. Since that would be embarrassing, though, Sam shakes himself awake when Eileen goes to check on dinner, focusing on the sunset, on the plush carpet, on the rails lining most of the walls for past occupants who had trouble walking.

It’s not hard to study Eileen, though, so he keeps his eyes on her and has to rub his mouth to keep from smiling incessantly. Her skin glows and her beauty marks paint her unique and Sam could just sigh into eternity, fall into kissing her for hours, touching her, never letting her go.

Sam could deem himself strange, crazy, but that was announced as his title long ago, so he let’s himself feel and feel and feel.

They end up slowly discovering one another’s mouths, Sam desperately pulling Eileen on top of him, moaning happily. He trails down her neck and lets his fingers wrestle inside her thick hair, laughing along with her as one hand plays dangerously with the hem of her shirt, the skin on her back smooth. It makes him wonder just what the rest of her feels like and immediately flushes red, because those thoughts are much too dirty.

He just can’t mar this.

What they have hasn’t developed to extremes, but it means so much to him it hurts on the inside. In the best way, in the way it should, but does Eileen feel the same?

It’s somewhere circling the rest of his thoughts when a light begins flashing from the oven, tiny but insanely bright in contrast to the soft sun, and Eileen grins, rising, sliding her palm over Sam’s chest with something interesting in her eye before moving back towards the kitchen. The light is yet another useful tool that although previously accustomed for older people has worked brilliantly for Eileen.

She prepares their meal with fluid movements, artistic in the way she pours the sauce across what Sam now sees is ravioli.

His mouth waters when Eileen dips down to hand him his plate.

“Be honest and tell me if you don’t like it,” she says, pointing at him sternly.

But Sam is too busy filling his face with an amazing home cooked meal that makes him very, very happy.

Either he’s turned on by this ravioli or Eileen spun the dial on the heater when he wasn’t looking, because he’s in a heavenly state and sweating.

“ **It’s amazing,** ” Sam signs, setting down his wiped plate, gripping Eileen’s hand. “ **Seriously. This is all amazing. Thank you.** ”

Eileen smiles, ducking her head shyly, but she too seems delighted by the meal.

Sam scoops up seconds and they sit in a comfortable silence, hands and mouths too occupied by food to do anything but share glances and blush like teenagers.

As dinner finishes, the sun is officially off its shift, the moon a pleasant companion in the sky, and Sam’s stomach is thanking him profusely. “ **I could probably go sleep for a few days now,** ” Sam groans, pressing his back into the couch. “ **That was incredible.** ”

“ **I hope you are not actually considering sleeping…** ” Eileen is stepping towards him slowly, eyebrows a dash higher than usual, her lips dotted up in an endearing way. “ **I was hoping we could…** ”

Sam swallows, but the sign language gesture Eileen is spinning is unfamiliar to him. “I don’t…” Sam’s voice drops away, but it doesn’t matter because he definitely understands now that Eileen’s palms are light on his shoulders, one delicate knee coming up to rest on the couch cushion next to him, small and snug against Sam’s thigh.

“Do you understand?” She asks from above him, her hair curling down and tickling his jaw. But her eyes are all question, uncertainty, and she has to read his lips.

So he makes it as clear as he can by kissing her soundly, wrestling her into his lap.

Eileen is compliant, going lax against his body, everything submissive under his touch except her own hands and lips. A few of her magenta painted nails soar into his hair, tugging his head back as she breathes the life back into him, the lust releasing inside of his chest, letting out moans she won’t hear but that Sam needs because it’s raw and real and precariously alluring.

It’s almost frightening, actually, how much he truly wants her.

But sometimes the best things in life _should_ make him feel nervous. And not in a perilous, unsafe type of way. A life or death situation, a hazardous dare or thrill, like hunting has always made him feel.

In the way where Sam has butterflies circling in his stomach at the sight of her, a stuttering heartbeat when touching her, kissing her. From all those simple texts and _Skype_ calls and deep conversations he’s never been able to share with anybody else for the sake of sparing feelings.

With Eileen, things were real and honest, but in a way that didn’t threaten him or make him feel dangerously exposed.

With Eileen… he feel so lonely.

So Sam kisses her harder, sweeter, holds her like precious cargo and puts everything he can’t say into showing her just how much this means to him.

And it’s all he could have asked for, and so much more.

\---

It’s only a few weeks later when they’re lying in the aftermath, Sam’s fingers tracing the small of her back, thinking of how it would be the perfect place for something else, when he suddenly blurts out, “Do you want to come live in the bunker?”

He stills instantly, wondering just what the fuck he is thinking, but Eileen only wisps her hair over her shoulder and presses her back against his chest gently, sighing.

Of course, she couldn’t hear him.

Sam breathes out everything inside of him in relief.

But later, as they throw a hearty salad together in the kitchen, Sam studies her carefully. She’s always plucking her hair away from her eyes and throwing it behind her, always rubbing her wrists when she reads through magazines or flips through stacks of recipes her parents left behind after their demise. Always squeezing his arm and presenting him with soft kisses when he happens to be in the way of the fridge.

Her smile never fades from a warm glow, and it is always pointed towards him.

And just like that, he’s settling his hand on her hair and waiting for her to turn before signing, “ **Eileen, I want you to come live with me at the bunker.** ”

Eileen’s surprise is evident as her eyes widen, her hands grappling at her hair, her wrists. Sam waits patiently as she gazes up at him, at a loss for words and signs. Then, she’s grinning slowly, shaking her head in disbelief. “Are you serious?” She asks.

“Deadly.”

Eileen wraps her arms around his neck and smiles up at him. “I would love to, Sam Winchester.”

He’s never felt anything like this.

\---

Sam had never realized that mattresses had a _nice_ scent, but the Mattress Emporium Cas works at certainly produces a light, airy aroma that makes him want to take a nap in a cloud and never wake up again.

Something comforting sweeps over him as he steps into the large square building, the air conditioner a blessing in a poor disguise as it rattles obnoxiously in the corner of the barred ceiling. The registers are empty and Sam seems to be alone in the midst of mattresses upon mattresses, long routes spanning through the room like a maze.

“Uh, hello?” Sam calls, wringing his hands nervously, peeking around high stacks of memory foam and a Tempur-Pedic that looks a hell of a lot like the one he took almost an hour moving upstairs into Cas and Dean’s house _by himself_.

He can thank Dean for his maddening back pain.

“Hi! Hi, sorry!”

It takes a moment of circling one tower that’s on the verge of toppling to come face to face with a curly haired man that seems taken aback by Sam’s height. Not that it’s anything new, but he’s giggling and Sam is out of his element.

“My my, no one informed me that tall _and_ handsome came in one package,” the man flirts, making finger guns and clicking his tongue.

Sam blushes furiously.

Then the man starts giggling again. “Oh, come on Sam. I’m just messing with you!” He sticks out his hand. “I’m Frank. I don’t know if Casarella has told you about me, but we’re practically best friends sooo, he should have.”

Sam sighs in relief, grinning as he reaches for Frank’s hand. “Oh, sorry! Yeah, Cas has told me about you! Speaking of which, do you know where Cas is? We’re having lunch after his shift.”

“Nice! Yeah, he’s in the back if you wanna pop in.” Frank winks and Sam goes back to feeling mildly uncomfortable. “It was nice to finally meet you, man. I really have heard pretty much _everything_ about you and I already know I love you.”

“Thanks. I think.”

Practically sprinting, Sam hurries through flimsy double doors in the back that lead into a hallway with different sized doorways lined up along the concrete walls. He finds Cas balancing on his tiptoes on a small metal ladder, his shirt riding up as he pushes a heavy looking box almost on the highest shelf, but not quite.

“Want some help with that?”

Castiel turns his head as far as he can. “Holy fuck, Sam, _yes_ , come here before I’m crushed by bed frame wheels.”

Laughing, Sam uses his pointer finger and pushes the situation to safety and Cas groans, forehead resting on the side of a metal shelf. “Sometimes I dislike you.”

But Cas is already turning and embracing him, clearly not in dislike. “My shift is mostly over so we should probably hurry out of here before Frank proceeds to talking your ear off.”

“Too late.” Cas rolls his eyes and Sam follows him around as he checks on a few minor things, grabbing his stuff on the way.

“Goodbye Frank!” Cas calls once they’re halfway out of the door, pulling Sam out by his shirt, muttering, “I swear, he’s insane.”

“But he’s also your friend,” Sam points out. 

“I’m seemingly attracted to crazy,” Cas says with a grin, pushing his way into Sam’s truck. “Anyway, how are things with Eileen?”

As Sam pulls out of the parking lot, his face grows bright red. “Promise you won’t tell Dean?”

“ _Sam_ , why do you both always put me in these situations!?” Cas sets his head back against the seat, his lips curving up. “But, I do enjoy hearing about this whole relationship… And all Dean knows is that you went out once and that you still text often.”

“That’s kind of sad,” Sam laughs, rubbing at his forehead. “Okay, um… Well, I asked Eileen to move into the bunker.”

Cas stares at him, mouth open. “Really? So soon?”

“I know! Fuck! I’m so stupid, but I don’t know! Something just overcame me and I asked her in bed—”

“Wait, you both are already having intercourse?”

“Oh my god, _Cas_ ,” Sam groans, blushing even harder. “You kill me.”

“I know, I know, but… Wow. What did she say? Oh no, did she say no? Oh Sam…”

“She said yes.”

“ _What_!?”

“Yeah. So… Don’t tell Dean.”

“Fuck you.” But Cas is laughing and rolling down the window so it can disappear with the wind. “I’m happy for you, Sam. I’ve been feeling horrible lately…”

“What do you mean?”

But he’s pulling up in front of the restaurant they had all recently discovered after a long day of renovating and toe-stubbing. It’s a strange, but complimentary mix of American food and Chinese, run by a couple consisting of a tall Asian man and a gorgeous African-American woman who loves to hug.

Cas conveys that their conversation can continue inside, and they venture into the homey building, consumed by wonderful smells that really shouldn’t mix, but somehow do.

“Babies!” The owner, Thelma, hurries over to them, her arms already spread wide. “I’m so glad you’re here! And Samuel, I thought I’d never see you again!”

“I know, I’m sorry. Things have been busy.”

“They always are,” Thelma says over Cas’ shoulder. “I’ve had to serve the cutest couple ever instead!”

Cas smiles shyly at her. “You’re very kind, Thelma.”

“Don’t even say anything about it, honey. So is it just you two?”

Sam’s mind whirls as Thelma leads them to a table, worrying, because that’s all he seems to do these days. Even with Eileen, he’s worrying that it won’t always feel this way. That he won’t always be this happy, because when has he ever?

Of course, Cas notices it, just like he always does. That’s one of the best (and worst) things about him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to worry you,” Cas says, fretting with the menu. His blue eyes are sincere as he peers at Sam, clearly apologetic. “It’s just… I don’t want to hurt you. Or make you feel left out. Sam, the last thing I want to do is push you away or make it seem like I’m stealing Dean from you.”

Sam’s mouth drops open. Yes, he had been feeling a bit lonely, but it wasn’t because he was feeling left out! Or like Cas was taking his place! “No, man, holy shit, _no_! You’re not doing any of those things, I swear. It’s not like you guys kick me out of your house and stuff. I understand you need space and I’m so happy for you.

“I have to admit,” he continues, huffing in amusement, “that I _have_ been kinda lonely. But it’s not because of you guys! It’s because I’m just scared that I won’t find a love like you two. That maybe I’ll never be happy, you know?”

Cas seems to want to interject, but Sam holds up his hand. “ _But_ , even that’s changed. Because of… Eileen.”

And it’s out there. Finally. Everything he had been afraid to say these past few months. That which he has denied profusely, with passion.

“I think I’m in love with Eileen,” Sam confesses quietly, looking down at his lap before breaking out into a huge smile.

There’s a moment of silence while Cas processes, eyes wide, palms flat on the table. Sam leans back in his chair, cupping his hair behind his ear, sighing. It’s the most truthful thing he could have said, exhilarating. His heart is pounding and he’s sweating and it’s amazing.

“Sam…” Cas is giving him a sweet look. “That’s wonderful!”

“I know. I- I haven’t said that to anyone, not even myself.” He rubs his face, pushes back his hair, tries to scrutinize the menu before giving up and flashing a huge smile. “I can’t believe it!”

“I’m so happy for you, Sam, please believe me. But…” Cas fixes him with a serious expression. “I think this definitely calls for telling Dean, don’t you think?”

Sam was almost expecting that realization to hurt, but suddenly, he’s excited. “You know what, yeah. Yes. Damn right I do! I’ll call him right now!”

“WAIT.”

He freezes, hand already stuffed into his back pocket, ready to dial blind. Cas tilts his head in amusement. “Maybe you should at _least_ let Eileen know about your significant realization first, right?”

“Oh. Right!”

\---

It turns out to be one of the hardest things Sam has ever done, which (when looking back at his life) really says something about their relationship.

Because the only thing Sam fears right now is rejection.

His first attempt is during a harrowing journey down the creaking metal staircase in the bunker.

Eileen’s boxes are heavy. She’s a master of finding insight and warmth in her material objects, although she’s also an expert at packing light when she needs to. Sam loves to listen- and watch- her weave stories about certain objects.

Like the glass elephant with the green marble eyes. After telling Sam a humorous and enlightening tale of how it came into her possession, she asks with a tinge of red blooming on her cheeks if she can place it on their bedside table.

“ **Or if you want me to have my own room,** ” she quickly signs afterwards, eyes big.

Gazing down at her, Sam is hit with that same feeling from the restaurant when he confessed to Cas.

_I love you,_ he almost shouts, wanting to grip her by the shoulders and never let go.

Instead, he rolls his eyes and kisses the top of her head. He pulls back with his hands out, fingers fumbling. “Don’t be silly. You’re staying with me in my room.”

Eileen visibly relaxes, smiling. It drops again. “I have a problem though,” she says. “I have a two year lease on my apartment.”

“You’ll have to get out of that.” Sam winks.

He earns a playful smack on his arm and a chaste kiss, and he watches her walk away with the glass elephant in her smooth hands, wondering if that was his last chance.

It’s not, of course, even if they don’t all seem ideal.

The next time presents itself a week later at a tiny coffee shop drive-in. It’s the type of place that doesn’t have any seating, so it’s just a pit-stop on their way back to the bunker.

Eileen is in the driver’s spot in Sam’s truck, and Sam had shot her a questioning glance as he handed her his pocket change. One of his top priorities was to never underestimate her, but there were still times he felt protective.

He didn’t want anyone making fun of her, or for Eileen to feel embarrassed in any capacity, but she was always insisting, rolling her eyes, telling him she’s strong enough.

And despite the knot that forms in his chest and the curl of his fist, Sam is fiercely proud, even if it’s a feeling he probably shouldn’t and will never share with her.

Pulling up to the window, Eileen turns her head away and orders with clarity both her and Sam’s order. The barista smiles with a nod, turning away to mix their drinks together.

After, Sam realizes that he never even told her what he wanted, and he hides his happiness behind the rim of his paper cup, the steam rising through his eyelashes. It’s… cute. Domestic, even? A task that a real couple would be able to perform with ease, making it into an identifiable art.

He taps Eileen on the shoulder. “ **Are you my girlfriend?** ”

She looks surprised. “Well I hope so!” Eileen exclaims. Her hand finds Sam’s against the seat, lips curved up in that way that tells Sam she’s joking. “Don’t tell me you’ve found someone else.”

“Hell no!” Sam’s not sure if Eileen saw his lips move, but she must sense it, laughing. “I—”

His voice cuts off.

Sam’s excuse is that Eileen isn’t looking.

The third attempt rolls by like a monumental wave, occurring after a visit to Cas and Dean.

Since all his nerves are pinpointed towards the one person he truly needs to tell, letting Dean in on the whole shebang is…

Just as hard.

Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, cause Sam _does_ get through it.

Cas had texted him a few minutes before he arrived at their house, once to warn Sam to come through the front door because Dean has Baby picked apart in the garage with every piece laid out in a specific order neither of them can decipher, Dean saying quote-on-quote, “Don’t let Sam’s moose feet mess up my shit.”

The second text was an encouragement, along with a gang of emoticons that make Sam snort, because Cas clearly did _not_ mean to add the cucumber emoji… At least, Sam prays he didn’t.

Their house looks gorgeous as Sam pulls up. It makes his eyes light up, impressed by all means. He didn’t think they were incompetent or anything, but everything looks so _homey_.

In the late evening, dipping into the clarification of night, their little house is lit up with soft bulbs that emit a warm light in almost every single window. The dining room curtains are pulled back, only the sheer under layer blocking the view of two silhouettes drifting around inside.

Sam hops out of his truck, the pie nestled in his arms giving off a sweet scent that mixes with the fresh air and pine needles. What’s nice about their house is that it has just enough privacy without totally being blocked from the outside world like the bunker.

He knocks heavily on the front door before pushing it open, making sure he doesn’t kick over the dusty gnome guarding the entrance with a smile bordering on the line of creepy. “Hello?”

“Over ‘ere, Samantha.”

Sam runs into Cas first. “Hey.” He holds out the pie, biting his lip. “Is this a good peace offering?”

Rolling his eyes, Cas carefully takes it from his trembling hands. “Oh Sam, stop worrying. It’s all going to be okay, I promise. Don’t you think it was much more difficult for Dean to tell you about me?”

He figures this is true. If only his ears could transfer that message to his brain.

“This will loosen him up, at least,” Cas continues, squeezing Sam’s right shoulder upliftingly. His blue eyes are soft, gentle.

Without a lumbering Armageddon atop their shoulders, it has given them all a chance to destress, and it shows in the smooth skin on Cas’ face. No longer are those deep frown lines carved into his forehead, the tense wring of his shoulders now depleted into yet another mark of normality. It goes along with Dean too, who doesn’t keep his shoes on all the damn time anymore and usually keeps to one layer at a time, which is a sight Sam thought he’d never see so consistently.

Dean is propped against the counter, a beer pressed to his lips and a spatula clutched in one hand. His eyes light up when Sam ducks under a doorway into the kitchen, sending him a lopsided smile.

“Hey!” Sam says, grinning.

Dean narrows his eyes and smirks. “Did you grow another ten inches?”

Fucking Dean.

He’s about to give his big brother a piece of his mind, but Cas calls them into the dining room. Sam knocks Dean with his shoulder, hard, and earns a groan. “Old man,” Sam hisses, chuckling darkly as he pokes Dean in the stomach.

“I’m gonna beat the _shit_ out of you,” Dean growls, bent over.

Sam can’t tell if Cas is pleased or not with their first interaction of the night as they round the corner when he rolls his eyes dramatically, but he feeds them anyway.

Their little red table had a slight wobble when Dean first hauled it into the room, so Sam and Cas had spent some time finding little square pieces of the carpet they had ripped from the bathroom and cut them into circles before fitting them beneath one leg. Sam had to admit that they did a damn good job that afternoon, content with something so simple.

While Dean digs into his spaghetti and meatballs ecstatically, Sam twirls his salad around, throat dry. He ponders how to tell Dean as to not make it seem like such a big deal, like this type of thing happens often.

_Yeah_ , Sam thinks as he stares at Dean who has a long strand of noodle hanging from his mouth, _we Winchesters fall in love all the time._

Cas kicks his foot halfway through their meal, nodding his head towards the eldest Winchester who is breaking off a piece of French bread.

Sam swallows, tugging at his flannel. The fabric goes taut, burning at the back of his neck. He takes a deep breath and—

“Eileen is going to come live at the bunker.”

There. It’s done.

He stabs at a particularly hearty piece of lettuce, trying to play it cool. But his heart is thumping roughly again, and this time it’s not because of anxiety. Sam licks his lips and peers at Dean through his lashes. Dean is waiting patiently, it seems. “And I’ve been learning sign language,” he blurts out, the smile appearing on his face uncontrollably. Sam’s aware of all eyes on him, so he goes back to looking at his salad.

Maybe _it_ would accept his declaration of love.

“I’m just glad we’re not the only Men of Letters left.”

There’s a minimal pause that the silence fills, but suddenly Dean is slapping a hand down on his back. “That’s awesome! I’m happy for you. She’s pretty cool, Sammy.”

_Holy shit_.

“I hope to meet her soon,” Cas adds, so casual that Sam laughs to himself. “She sounds wonderful.”

“She is. We’ve been texting ever since that Banshee hunt and we even Skype sometimes so she can teach me some stuff.” He’s aware that he’s blushing, and unfortunately, it fuels Dean’s humor fire.

“Look’s like Sammy’s gotta wittle crushy crush,” Dean says with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrow.

“Shut up.”

“But he’s in loveeee…”

“Dean,” Sam warns. He has a nice big fist to shove in Dean’s jaw (playfully of _course_ ), but luckily Cas saves the day.

“ _Do_ you like her, Sam?” Cas prods gently, that soft look in eyes.

Sam’s face is probably a tomato by now. “Yeah. Sort of. Maybe. Yes.”

“That’s great!” Dean exclaims. “And, hey, don’t worry about closing any doors since we won’t be there… You got the whole place to yourselves!”

Mkay, Sam did his part and now it’s time to _leave_. His knee hits the table roughly as he jolts out of his seat. “I’m gonna go put this, um, in the sink.”

He’s probably running to the kitchen like a dork, but as Sam sets his bowl in the sink and collapses against the fridge, a laugh rushes out of him, untamed. The sound of the water hopefully drowns him out as he pants, not paying attention to his careful ministrations against the porcelain. Sad, flaccid pieces of lettuce swirl into the garbage disposal while Sam thinks it all over.

“I really am happy for you, Sam.”

Turning, Sam comes face to face with Dean who has a stack of plates in his arms. He ducks his head, grabbing them to place in the sink, but Dean grabs his arm.

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, you know.”

With a heavy sigh, Dean rotates Sam to face him again. His green eyes contain no sense of amusement now, set into a serious expression. Dean clears his throat. “I wanna say something, actually.”

Sam tries not to show his surprise. But he nods, and Dean motions for him to follow as he pads out of the kitchen. He can hear Cas clambering around dishes in the kitchen now as they sit across from one another in the living room.

Sam lets himself relax into the squishy armchair he occupies, keeping his gaze steady as Dean leans forward with his arms on his knees. In the cozy light it’s hard to tell, but Sam recognizes the faint gray scattered at Dean’s hairline. It makes him smile, but he hides it away when Dean finally looks back at him.

Definitely not something he wants to say during this conversation, but Sam will for sure be teasing him about it before the night is over.

“Ya know, I didn’t tell Cas I loved him until we bought this house,” Dean says faintly, scratching at his forearm. Sam raises his eyebrows, slightly bewildered.

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. I know, I know… I’m a stubborn asshole.”

“It warms my heart to hear you say that, Dean,” Sam jokes, grinning.

“Shuddup, I’m trying to tell you something.” But he’s laughing too, and it breaks the ice. “It seems crazy that I didn’t tell him sooner, but I was scared. Nothing like this ever works out for us, Sam. Never. And I guess I just spent that whole time in the bunker waiting for some shit storm to come rolling in and take it all away.”

Sam can relate to that on an extreme level.

“But then… We found this place.” Dean’s eyes scan across the room, landing back to his hands. They are fidgeting nervously in his lap. “And everything changed. That first night we slept in the house with only a mattress in our room was when I guess I realized that maybe this could happen. I—” He chuckles, raking his fingers through his hair. “I tried to tell Cas I loved him with this whole big fucking speech, but turned out he was out cold during the whole thing.”

Sam cracks up, because that’s irony at its finest.

The one time Dean decides to bare his heart and Cas is asleep.

“So what did you do?”

“I woke him up!”

“Oh my god, Dean. You’re such a jackass!”

“Hey, I gave the best damn love confession ever that night! I wasn’t letting it go to waste.” Dean rubs his eyes, shaking his head in amusement. “So, yeah. That happened and… yeah. I told him.”

With a deep smile that makes his heart leap, Sam nods. “How did you feel afterwards?”

“… Free? Excited? I don’t know, something like that.” Dean waves his hand. “That’s not the point. Well, actually, it is. _But_ , what I’m trying to tell you Sammy is… Don’t hold back.”

The conversation takes on another serious edge, and Sam sighs. “I know, it’s just… I think I’m feeling the same way you were.”

“Shouldn’t it be pretty goddamn terrifying to tell the love of your life you love them?”

Sam can’t help snorting. “Well shit, Dean.”

“I know, I’m just full of wisdom.”

It would be the perfect opportunity to make that gray hair joke, but Sam freezes. “Wait. I think I know just how to tell her.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah!” He rises from his chair, head spinning. “I have to go!”

“Wait—”

But Sam is already wrenching his coat from the back of the couch, pulling out his phone to check the time. His brother is out of his seat, looking confused, and Cas appears from the hallway. “What’s going on?”

“I have to tell Eileen something!”

Both open their mouths, but Sam wraps his arms around their necks, embracing them both so tight they groan. “I love you guys,” he says, pulling away and grinning brightly. “And now I think it’s time I finally say that to Eileen.”

Cas claps his hands in excitement, pulling Dean along as they hurry towards the front door. “I’m so glad, Sam! But, are you going to tell her tonight?”

He nods, fumbling for his keys.

“Is that such a good idea?”

“YES, guys! I _have_ to tell her, right now!”

Sam whips open the front door, letting the cool night air embrace him. He’s about to haul ass, but he pauses, turning back with his hand still wrapped around the doorknob.

Cas and Dean stand there silently, eyes wide, waiting.

He gives Dean a devilish smirk. “By the way, I like the gray,” Sam says, gesturing to his hair. “It really brings out that wisdom, huh?”

As he turns away, pulling the door along with him, he hears Dean yell, “ _WHYDIDN’TYOUTELLMECAS_ ,” before it slams shut.

He cackles all the way to his truck.

\---

As Sam swerves down the road, praying to every single powerful creature that may happen to be listening that he _doesn’t_ die, he presses his phone to his ear, breathing hard.

The ringing stops and a tiny voice answers the phone. “Hello?”

“Mimi? Is that you?”

There’s a giggle, one that sounds familiar… “ _Tracy_ ,” Sam says, putting on an authoritative tone, “I need you to put Mimi on the phone, okay?”

More giggling. “Mimi isn’t here right now.”

“Then will you go _find_ her, please? It’s urgent.”

“I don’t know…”

Sam checks the time. “Wait, why are you still up anyways? It must be way past your bedtime!”

“Nope. I stay up as late as I want!”

It would not bode well for his reputation to scream at a little kid, so he takes a deep breath.

In, out.

“Tracy. Honey. Do you mind putting Mimi on the phone? There’s something very, very important I need to share with her.”

“Oo, what is it? I like secrets!”

The scream is ready to let loose when there’s the sound of indelicate cursing and infectious giggles.

“Hello? I’m so sorry to whomever is calling. Certain residents tend to be a… _disturbance_.”

“Oh thank God! Mimi, it’s Sam Winchester.”

“Holy horse knuckles! Sam, I’m so glad to be hearing from you!” A pause. “It is quite late, though…”

“I know, I’m so sorry, but there’s something really important I need you to do for me…”

\---

Due to the lease, Mimi had secretly let Eileen know to at least sleep at her own apartment in order to appeal to the landlord and show that it had been properly used for a proper purpose and that it was nothing against him.

_He’s just really sensitive,_ Mimi had said.

So, with that thought in mind, Sam hopes to God that this doesn’t screw up Eileen’s chance.

Sam slams the door of his truck because he can and he needs to get out some of the adrenaline racing through him. Mimi prattles out in her high heels, wearing a shirt that barely fits around her chest. “Here you go, sweetheart. I almost lost hope, but I found it lying in the back!”

He takes the giant flashlight from her, running his hand through his hair over and over again. “Thank you so much. I know this seems… crazy.”

Mimi just smiles and pats him on the hand. “That’s what love does to a man.”

He couldn’t agree more.

Sam takes position after counting floors and rooms, double checking with the help of Mimi who he thanks again before she scurries off, squealing with Tracy who is _still up_ , like, where the hell is this kid’s legal guardian!?

He takes a minute to gather his bearings, wiping his sweaty palms off on his jeans.

“This is it,” Sam tells himself, whispering the words to the wind. “No going back. Not that I want to.”

Another deep breath.

He prays Eileen is somewhat awake at midnight.

Sam turns on the flashlight, startled by how bright it is. It’ll definitely do the trick. He shines it at the window on the third floor, waving it violently. He can’t help but yell her name, even though it’s stupid because she won’t hear him, but it adds to the effect and keeps him from collapsing into a puddle of sweat.

“Eileen!” He calls up, feeling like a goddamn idiot as he attempts to keep the flashlight from shining into other people’s windows. “Eileen!” His arms are aching and he’s already out of breath. “I’m an idiooot, so you should come out so I can stop fucking doing thisss!”

“DID HE JUST USE THAT FILTHY WORD!?”

He squeaks, faltering, whipping his head to the left. There’s an old lady leaning out of a second floor window, clad in a stupendously pink bathrobe. She looks both horrified and horrifying in the dimmer ring of light emitting from the flashlight.

“I think he did,” comes another voice, this time from a man leaning against the windowframe on the first floor, his arms crossed. He does not look pleased.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” The old lady screams down at the other guy. Sam hears him sigh.

“Shut up, Annie,” he mumbles.

“HUH!?”

“Would you keep it down, you bloody idiots!” Someone shouts from the third floor, on the left side which is still cast in darkness. “Some of us are old and need _sleep_!”

“Oh, shut your mouth Arnold!” The first floor man yells up.

“OI, what did you just say, Marn!?”

“I CAN’T UNDERSTAND YOU,” Annie screams.

Sam wants to punch himself in the face.

And then, suddenly, the third floor window he is trying to obtain the attention of is opening and Sam tries to divert the blazing light so that he doesn’t blind his girlfriend.

That would just be the icing on top of her already soundproof cake of life.

He grins as a head sticks out and—

“Get that fucking light out of here, you little shit!” Screams a very nasty seeming woman with curlers encircling her extremely large head.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry—”

“I will shove that light right up your hairy a—”

“QUIET!!!!!!!”

Everyone stills, their faces turning to the ground, along with Sam who doesn’t know what the fuck is going on.

Tracy stands a few yards away, holding her own tiny flashlight, wearing a pair of bright green rain boots that make her feet look impossibly huge. But she has the look of death on her prim face.

“CAN’T YOU SEE THAT THIS MAN IS ATTEMPTING TO CONFESS SOMETHING DEAR TO HIS HEART TO THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE!?”

It’s silent for a moment and, yeah, Sam doesn’t know what to believe anymore.

Everyone starts mumbling, and then Sam begins to hear windows slide shut, the only dissatisfaction coming from Annie who still can’t fucking hear.

But she too disappears and all is quiet once more.

Sam turns to Tracy. She grins. “I think you got the wrong room.”

“Yeah. Guess I did.” Sam kicks at the ground. “Great! I was hoping for a super romantic gesture and look what I got? A couple of angry old people screaming at me and—”

“Sam!”

His heart almost stops, definitely skips a beat for a moment, and he looks up to see Eileen leaning over the windowsill to the right of the window he had been previously been yelling and shining at.

“Eileen!”

Tracy thrusts out her own flashlight, grappling for Sam’s, and he shines the duller light up. His girlfriend’s face becomes clearer, and he could cry out.

Eileen looks baffled. “ **What are you doing, Sam?** ”she signs.

Sam holds up his hands in a ‘wait there’ kind of way, and looks at Tracy. She seems to understand what he wants, backing away to the right while Sam moves opposite of the building.

“Ready?” Tracy asks, when he flips out his light.

His smile can only be seen by the dark, heart racing. “Ready.”

The giant flashlight shines on him, and he can’t see anything but the light and how he may be dealing with blindness afterwards, but he doesn’t care.

Sam signs, over and over and over,

“ **I love you!** ”

Sam doesn’t keep count of how many times he signs, smiling, blushing, feeling the embarrassment wash over him because he’s squinting and he probably looks like an idiot and Eileen is probably wondering just what the fuck he’s doing, but he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t want to ever stop.

“I LOVE YOU!” Sam yells, laughing like a crazy person.

Which, he is.

He’s the craziest man alive.

“Sam,” Eileen says, and suddenly the light is disappearing and he’s seeing spots and weird shapes floating through the darkness, but he points the little flashlight on her face again. She’s grinning so wide, shaking her head like she can’t believe this is happening. “Get up here, Sam!”

“O-okay!” Sam glances at Tracy who is nodding her head and taking both flashlights.

“Go,” she says.

Tracy giggles as Sam races across the lawn, through the main doors, past Mimi who is clutching her bosom and to the elevator.

_Out of Order_

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” he breathes, clutching his knees.

Sam lets out a growl as he sprints to the stairs, pounding up flights that never seem to end, fighting his way to Eileen.

_3rd floor, right hallway, stairs, old people, 24._

The mantra whips back into his head.

Once, it had brought him an overwhelming amount of fear and sweating; Now, although he’s _still_ sweating, it only gages excitement, the type that makes Sam feel like exploding. Happiness, joy.

He’s promptly standing in front of her door now, and his finger is barely pressed to the doorbell when the door flies open.

Eileen has her hair up in a messy bun, clad in shorts and a baggy sweater. Her fingernails are pink.

Sam has never been so in love before.

They meet in the middle, their lips grappling, and Sam doesn’t hesitate to scoop Eileen into his arms. She’s warm from her bed and she smells sweet, like her tropical bodywash. Tiny hands hang onto his neck as he kicks the door shut, carrying her to her bedroom which is bare, only a mattress and a few blankets in the room.

Maybe it should be super weird that this reflects Dean’s _I love you_ moment, but Sam is so caught up in everything, and Eileen is straddling his waist.

Her fingers slide over Sam’s jaw and down his neck, and she smiles. “ **I love you too, Sam.** ”

They share a heartfelt gaze before Sam is softly pulling Eileen down with a chuckle, knowing those old people are definitely going to be pissed at him for the second time tonight.

And with that thought, they adjourn to meeting in the middle.

\---

They’re almost officially moved into the bunker when Sam gets the call.

“Hey, Dean, I was ju—”

“I asked Castiel to marry me, Sam.”

Sam is silent for a moment before a literal squeal escapes his lips, and he’s bobbing on the balls of his feet. “Dean! I can’t—How!? When!?”

“Just this morning. It wasn’t, um, anything _too_ special, but I mean, it was perfect and Cas said yes and I- yeah. Wow. I think I’m still in shock.”

Sam would like to agree, but he eventually calms down and laughs. “Oh whatever.”

His brother lets out a content sigh, and Sam can hear him rustling around in the kitchen. He takes that time to yell, “Eileen! Get in here!” before cursing and slapping himself. “Shit. I keep doing that, Dean! Oh my god, I am a horrible person!”

He races to find his girlfriend while Dean laughs, telling his brother to hold on. Eileen is in their room, hanging up her clothes next to Sam’s, and he pauses to grin at how adorable that is before tapping her on the shoulder.

“ **Dean asked Cas to marry him!** ” Sam signs.

Eileen freaks out along with him and they hug, Sam spinning her around, because who fucking knew his brother would ever get here someday!? Who knew Sam would!?

“Eileen is freaking out! She wants to come out and meet Cas and make plans,” he says into the phone.

“That’s great.” The unscrewing of some type of lid can be heard in the background and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah. So… Cool. Knew it would happen someday soon. You guys have been in love for, like, years.” Sam loops his arm around Eileen’s shoulders, kissing her forehead.

Dean stays silent, but he can practically hear his brother’s smile. It hasn’t been easy to get him to talk about feelings, but _this_ is everything (and more) that Sam could ask for. He can’t wait to see what happens during the wedding.

While he thinks, something suddenly pops up in his mind and he narrows his eyes. “I’m guessing this was a spur of the moment thing,” Sam says.

“Yeah. Pretty much. But it was the right time. I’m happy, Sammy. And I don’t regret it.”

“I don’t doubt it! So…” Sam pauses, smirking. “Have you gotten a ring?”

Silence. Then, “fuck.”

Sam laughs his ass off until he’s crying.

\---

Dean thinks both he and Sam were highly surprised when Cas introduced himself to Eileen in fluent sign language.

He had never really thought about it before, but Cas had been a freaking _angel_ , and of _course_ he would know every single language known to mankind, including ASL.

But still, he’s impressed.

And… a little turned on?

God, Dean has to swear to himself that he’ll never tell Sam that little secret.

Before the dynamic duo arrives, Dean elects that they take a bath in their fancy sparkling white tub.

Cas declines though, because apparently he’s a loser who took a shower _without_ Dean at like seven a.m., which is already way too early, and he’s dressed in his comfy looking long-sleeve shirt and the jeans that really hug his ass.

So he’s sitting on the small ledge, bare feet on the lip of the tub while Dean soaks underneath a litany of bubbles that are gonna make his skin soft like a baby’s and smell just as good. Cas has his nose stuck in a book, Led Zeppelin falling from the fancy speaker Dean found at an electronics store.

It’s times like these where Dean is grateful that they don’t live in the bunker anymore.

Of course, he misses Sam dearly, but what he doesn’t miss is the extreme lack of privacy.

There aren’t any bathtubs in the bunker, or the benefit of sound-proof walls, or the opportunities to do the dirty in places other than the stifling, stale air of his old dark bedroom. Here, they have done it… Everywhere?

Dean blushes thinking about it.

Totally a new characteristic of his lately. He blushes over stupid things. Maybe it’s because he no longer has to keep up an act or an air of passive composures. If he had to go out and interview a suspect or a family member of a victim right now, he’d probably stumble over words, his mind more concerned with what to make for dinner that night or if Cas is going to get off work in time for Jeopardy.

That last one might be a far stretch, but Dean loves having to worry about first world problems, rather than cracked ribs and split knuckles.

Dean scrubs at his arms and under his knees, humming contentedly. After he starts on his chest, he pauses, glancing up at Cas with bubbles at the end of his eyelashes. “Is this… weird?”

“Hmm?”

“Is this weird? That I’m… um, taking a bath?”

Cas lets his book close over his thumb, narrowing his eyes at Dean in question. “Of course not. Why?”

“It’s just…” Dean sighs, moving closer so he can prop his arms near Cas’ legs on the ledge. “I feel kinda selfish. Like maybe I’m a jackass for all of this.”

“Oh Dean…” Cas rolls his eyes, but it’s soft, adoring. It makes him brim with a slight glow of happiness, which confirms his guilt. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Wow, thank you,” Dean laughs, rubbing at his neck.

“I’m serious. You have been to Hell and back, literally. Your whole life has been one of hardship and discomfort. You deserve this, I promise. You _earned_ it, Dean.” Cas takes Dean’s wet hand in his dry one, smiling sweetly. “Okay?”

“Yeah—”

“I’m serious, babe. Please believe me when I say that all of this makes it all… worth it. Right?”

Dean nods. “Yeah. _You_ were worth everything.”

“That’s not what I—”

“I know. But that’s what _I_ mean.” Smiling, Dean pulls Cas’ hand over to his lips.

Unfortuantely, this causes Cas to move closer to the corner of the ledge. His eyes flash and the mood changed drastically. “Dean…”

A chuckle rises from his lavender soaped chest, and Dean kisses up Cas’ hand, his arm. “What, Cas? You _want_ to come take a bath _now_?”

“Don’t you dare—”

Too late.

Dean yanks his fiancé into the tub, and water goes splashing, bubbles rising and spilling over them like a cascading wave. Cas shrieks, “ _DEAN_ ,” as his body slides over Dean’s.

“HOW DARE YOU.”

Dean cackles and tries to feign both innocence and nonchalance as Cas’ knee digs into his thigh. “You know you wanted to.”

“Oh my—Dean, _I am clothed_. And now I’m soaking wet _and_ the water isn’t even hot anymore!” Cas rambles on in annoyance, but when he lifts his head and stares at Dean with bubbles caked in his sex hair and water dripping from his jaw, it quickly evolves to full-blown laughter.

Aaaaand then making out, Cas still whispering about how pissed off he is in Dean’s ear as he pulls off his clothes, and complaining that he wanted to make the best impression in front of Eileen which apparently means accentuating his ass, not that _Dean_ is complaining now that they’re off and Cas is taking him in hand.

It’s slow and slightly humorous when Dean remembers Cas’ face and bursts out laughing while Cas helps them both along, but eventually they get there and it’s amazing.

Cas takes another shower, along with Dean, and they’re both pampered and in snug-fitting clothes by the time the doorbell rings and Cas is still looking fine as heck.

And he knows sign language.

Eileen hugs Cas tight, grinning brightly. “It’s great to finally meet you! I’ve heard so much about you from Sam and Dean,” she says slowly.

“ **And I, you,** ” Cas says, hands moving gracefully, fluently, signing along as he speaks and Dean swallows thickly, because this is the sweetest surprise ever.

And Eileen is absolutely taken aback in a very excitable way, along with Sam who shares a glance with Dean, astonished.

Cas leads Eileen to the kitchen where a deep dish lasagna is baking in the oven, signing on the way over, making sure to turn his body towards her, and it’s all so normal that Dean gets that same flutter in his chest.

“Okay, that makes everything so much fucking easier,” Sam admits for both of them, smirking. But his eyes are shining as he bumps into Dean’s shoulder, pulling him into a tight hug. “Seriously, Cas is full of surprises.”

“Oh, I know it…”

They stray over towards the garage for a moment so Dean can show off his organizational skills, all his tools and parts tucked away in their specific containers, his Baby gleaming in the new shop light that Roy, Frank’s husband, helped him fix to the ceiling.

Sam stuffs his hands in his pockets and practically giggles at all the little colorful labels, personally designed by Cas who can do wonders with magic markers. “You’re such a softie,” he says, flicking at the label marking the washer box.

“Shut up.”

“That’s not a bad thing, Dean.” Sam smiles at him, but saves them both from a chick-flick moment by turning and heading back into the house.

“I know it isn’t,” Dean whispers into the empty garage, absolutely satisfied.

The lasagna adds to Dean’s warm mood, simply leaning back with his mouth full, listening to the conversation unfold.

Sometimes, Eileen and Cas strictly sign to each other, and although Sam is able to mostly follow their fast paced conversation, Dean becomes lost.

It puts him in Eileen’s shoes, though, and maybe that’s a good thing, a learning experience. It must have been so difficult growing up, unable to hear and follow people as they spoke carelessly. Even now.

It’s humbling to watch Sam’s movements shift into one of care and consideration as he turns towards Eileen when he talks, tapping her on the shoulder… but kissing her on the cheek when he thinks Dean isn’t looking, sharing private smiles that don’t require sign language, or any words at all.

Gazing over at Cas who is tilting his head as Eileen tells a story, Dean can compare their relationships in the most wonderful, profound way, and it makes him happy.

“I love you,” Dean says softly as he helps Cas uncover the chocolate cake, Eileen’s favorite according to Sam. He pulls Cas against his side for a moment, letting their heads knock together gently.

“Love you too,” Cas whispers, smiling, kissing Dean tenderly. “Cake?”

“I guess.” Dean rolls his eyes affectionately. “But, change is good, right?”

They both find themselves examining Sam and Eileen, who are leaning against each other, hands entangled.

“I believe it really, truly is,” Cas says.

They share another passionate kiss and then Dean is scooping up the cake and flashing a huge smile, leading his soon to be husband to the kitchen table.

“Who’s ready for some cake!?” 

\---

One morning Sam wakes up to the smell of something sweet and rich wafting in through his open bedroom door.

The spot next to him in bed is empty, and Sam frowns as he sits up, rubbing at his eyes. He has found that he hates waking up without her next to him, not able to run his hands over her back, over the fresh anti-possession symbol engraved between her back dimples. He likes to smell her hair and hold her close and just relax in the knowledge that he has a beautiful woman to love.

After pulling on a discarded t-shirt from the floor, Sam heads to the kitchen. The scent gets stronger and stronger, and his frown rises to a smile at the sight of Eileen turning off the flashing light that alerts her that something is done cooking. 

Sam waits for her to pull out whatever she has made so as not to frighten her before tapping her on the shoulder. Eileen flashes him a smile, but Sam folds her up in his arms before she can say or sign anything. He kisses her shoulder and her neck before finally pulling away.

They share a sweet, heartfelt kiss with Eileen still smelling like his crisp, lilac scented sheets that they washed together yesterday the old fashioned way, with a tub of water and strong soap and a clothesline they strung outside in a calmer, more compacted wooded area by the bunker.

“ **What did you make?** ” Sam signs, grinning.

Eileen blushes, pulling off her oven-mitts. “ **It’s lemon bread!** ”

Raising an eyebrow, Sam examines the rectangular pan with interest. It looks like a cake, with only a golden brown top visible, but the smell reveals what is inside.

“ **Amazing,** ” Sam signs with almost a lethargic smile, pulling his hair back to press his nose closer.

Eileen pushes him away with a stern look. “ **Don’t you dare get snot on my bread, Sam. After I glaze it, I’ll slice you a big piece, okay?** ”

He laughs and kisses her again. “ **Sounds perfect.** ”

So after staring at Eileen as she pours the melting goodness all over the lemon bread like some goddess, Sam pulls her into his lap as he takes the first decadent bite. His moans are loud and most likely dramatic, but Eileen just grins and pinches his cheek as he chews. “ **You are such a weirdo,** ” Eileen signs, laughing.

“ **You know me so well!** ” Sam loops an arm around her waist and finishes his slice.

And then devours four more.

Yeah.

It’s gonna be a good day.

**Author's Note:**

> :) I hope this met your expectations! 
> 
> Let me know! <3 Love you all!


End file.
